


Skies without memories

by orphan_account



Series: Friendship and Dangerous Skies [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Lydia Martin & Malia Tate Friendship, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is a Good Friend, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Gets Shot, Stilinski Family Feels, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 39,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(part 3 in the Skies-series)</p><p>Stiles accidentally bumps into something he wasn’t supposed to see, and that might wind up costing him his life.<br/>After trying to stop a murderer, he ends up missing. With his life on the balance, his friends race against time to find him. When they do, things turn out to be worse than they initially expected. Not only is the murderer aware of Stiles’ survival, he is out to finish what he started, endangering not only Stiles but the whole pack.</p><p>As with all my stories, this one has loads of angst, hurt/comfort, friendship and family feels. My favorite stories are the ones that center around the group that has gotten so close over the past years, including my favorite characters of the show.</p><p>Skies without Memory is part 3 of my Friendship and Dangerous Skies-series. It can be read as a standalone, but there will be some minor references to the previous stories, especially related to the triangle between Stiles, Lydia and Malia, and past events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Girl

**Chapter One: The Girl**

  
The cottage's closed frail wooden door is the only thing that stands between Stiles and his killer. That’s what he is painfully aware of as he pushes his full weight against the door, before the other guy can come in.

But it will be useless in the end though, the wood won’t stop him from trying to kill Stiles. Trapped within the four, windowless walls, the teenager can hear the murderer's heavy fists pound on the wood from the outside.

The man is furious. The snarling breath from the intruder can be heard as if he is already in the room with his victims. It’s a frightening sound to hear and a painful awareness of the situation he’s in right now, being locked inside without a way out.

Stiles is not alone either, probably making it even worse.

The destructive killer doesn’t like the fact that his last victim was unexpectedly snatched away from him. The child only lived thanks to the protection of an eighteen year old teenager, who interfered unexpectedly with his business. 

The murderer hadn’t expected that, when he set out to kill again.  
  
The closed door doesn’t stop the enraged killer for long, something Stiles is aware of. His heart pounds in chest while he frantically searches for something to defend himself with. He isn’t a warrior, a werewolf, a kitsune or a banshee, but he will fight as long as he can.

His opposite, the man who is set out to kill the two inside the cottage, doesn’t abide by any rules. He doesn’t have mercy for his victims and will slaughter them as soon as he has the chance.

He’s a child murderer and doesn’t stop before he will be stopped.

Stiles’ eyes fall on the logs inside the cabin’s old fireplace. He picks out the largest of logs, testing out its force as he swings it like his trusted baseball bat. It feels greasy and old in his hands, but will have to do.

“I’m ready when you are,” he speaks through gritted teeth, eager to fight and be done with it. He won’t allow the man outside to take a young girl’s life, as if she means nothing to this world they exist in.

The weeping of the child makes Stiles look up from his angry reverie, suddenly reminding him of how he came to be in this situation and what is at stake. Instantly, he allows fear to return to his form, knowing she needs him to survive.

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

“I know,” he whispers back. “So am I.”

He keeps the girl safely hidden behind a large, turned-over table near the wall, where she will be protected if it came to a fight. He hopes and prays the man will come in without weapons too, and that it would be a fair fight. But he knows the chances are slim.

Stiles rushes forward as he hears the pounding of the man’s force against the door, hoping to stop him with his weight, or to surprise him as he comes in with the wooden log.

But then, as the door is finally succumbing under the weight of the intruder, Stiles quickly understands that this will not be a fair battle and that he has lost before it even began. Within a second, two bullets flew through the room an in almost uncanny speed as soon as the door is shoved open.  
  
Both bullets hit their target. One of them flies directly towards Stiles' right upper arm, slashing skin, flesh and bone and paralyzing the limb almost instantly as the bullet digs deep into him.

Before he can even register the pain that struck him hard, Stiles doesn’t see the second bullet, coming straight at him. It grazes his skull, sending him into almost immediate oblivion as he flies backwards, his back and head hitting the floor of the wooden shack hard.  
  
As he drops the heavy log and his body follows next to it immediately, crashing down on the cold stones, the teenager doesn’t feel any pain. His body just goes numb, motionless, bleeding from his head.

The bullet in his arm stays where it is, embedded deep within in his flesh. The other one, grazing his skull, has pierced the wood of the far wall.

Stiles’ last thought is with the girl, knowing her fate has been sealed and there is nothing he can do about it. He lies motionless on the ground, while her murderer steps over him, kicking him in the process.

Behind the table, the girl screams when the killer steps over the fallen teenager's body and reaches for her with his huge, strong hands. She finally comes eye to eye with the person who has been stalking her for nights, terrifying her while she lived through paralysing nightmares. She doesn’t even know who is he, but she does know she won’t be saved this time.

“There, there, you’re mine now,” he sooths, before he claims what he considers his. He coldly rejoices the girl's death-defying screams as he squeezes the very life out of her. Soon he’s done with her, leaving her broken body lying on the ground.

She falls down next to the teenager, dropping her on her side so she’s facing Stiles. Her dead eyes look into his as Stiles opens his eyelashes confused and only briefly. Then he sinks further into the abyss, while the murderer reaches out for him, ready to take his revenge.  
  
It is one thing to kill a defenseless girl with ease, but it’s another to take revenge on the teenager who has tried to step between his victims and him. The man knows that a common kill won’t satisfy him this time. It will please him more to know that the boy will spend his last hours in doubt, thinking of the girl he couldn’t save, while at the same time hoping and praying someone will find him before he dies.

His killer will make sure they won’t.


	2. The preserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for your lovely comments!

**Chapter Two: The Preserve**

   
The preserve is cold and damp, as it always is during winter time. Tonight is one of the coldest evenings of the year, when the night brings freezing temperatures that will kill quickly. Lewis Hayes brings Stiles here, with the intent of leaving him behind in the quarry way down south, where no one of Beacon Hills ever comes. There are only a few who know of its existence, like the family living a mile down the road.

It has existed there forever, hidden behind the hills where Lewis often went horseback riding with his dad as a kid. Some time ago, someone accidently was thrown off a horse and broke his neck, making the area forbidden for Beacon Hills’ citizens.

Lewis knows the hills and preserve by heart. He knows perfect well nobody will find the teenager here until it’s too late to save him, hopefully much later. Perhaps nobody will even know he’s missing for days. He doesn’t know who the kid is. He might be someone passing by, with parents living elsewhere.

They might not even find him until spring, after the thaw sets in and the world returns to its crispy green. By then, he will be recognized by fingerprinting only. Or, with any luck, and as he hopes secretively, the animals will have eaten his corpse.

Lewis parks his van near the edge, taking it as far as he dares to go. Nervously he gazes around, waiting with open windows until he’s sure that nobody has seen him and no sounds can be heard. Then he gets out and walks to the back of his van, opening it retrieve the thin blanket with his victim   
wrapped in it.

The kid’s body lies deeply hidden within the fabric. The blanket covers most of the face of his victim, leaving only the dark hair visible. He knows the teenager is still alive, breathing superficially inside the blanket.

Soon though, the breathing will stop. Even if by chance, the kid will be found in the morning, he won’t survive the night. A night like this can kill a healthy teenager, let alone an injured one.

Lewis carries the teenager whose name he doesn’t know with blanket and all to the quarry. The kid suddenly moans and moves inside the blanket, writhing against the harsh treatment his body was receiving.

Lewis stares in surprise as he feels the body fight to free itself. The killer makes one, two steps forward before he loses his grip. Then the blanket in his arms simply slides out of his grip and slumps downwards into the quarry, pulling the kid with it.

The teenager and the blanket tumble in between the rocks, falling straight into the quarry, smashing hard on the stones below. The body stops moving instantly. Lewis leans forward and sees the boy’s hand and arm pushed out of the blanket, as if he was still trying to free himself.

For a second he’s afraid the kid will live through it all, but there’s no more movement coming from him. And there is a glimpse of a pale face with dark hair, closed eyes and blood. No signs of living or breathing anymore.

Lewis stares at his victim for a long time and then slides into the quarry as well, pushing and shoving the weight inside the blanket deeper in the quarry. Finally the killer drops some rocks on the body to cover it from first sight, before crawling out of the quarry again.

From up there no one can see the body that will soon become food for the wild animals. There’s no doubt in his thoughts that the teenager is now dead.  

Lewis Hayes wipes off his hands on his clothes and returns to his van. He relishes the thrill that a kill gives him. He has destroyed two human lives in one night and enjoyed every second of it. Tonight he will relive the whole thing, while thinking of the kid who had tried to interfere in his business and paid for it with his life, suffering in agony before he died.

The man drives back to Beacon Hills and parks the van in his garage, like he always does. Then he goes inside and showers to clean himself up, thinking of the kid he left behind, happily humming a song.

 At that point, he had no idea that only a couple of hours later, his life would be turned upside down by another young girl.


	3. What she saw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again so much for the nice comments!  
> On with the story ;)

**Chapter 3: What she saw**

  
 “Annie, you’re not supposed to ride there!”

The shouts behind her make the girl startle, but still she continues to ride the mare her dad gave her for her birthday, despite the grunts and warnings of her uncle that she should be careful.

The twelve-year old rides on as she’s used to, ignoring her uncle’s anguish as always. But the horse takes her off guard, throwing her off her back and sending her tumbling into the bushes around the old rock quarry.

“Shit, Annie!” she hears Lewis yell upset, knowing all too well they were not supposed to go out here in the first place, as the quarry is forbidden area for everyone. Her uncle, also her guardian of the day, had been pretty pissed off that she had gone off without him. He had been unable to stop her, riding after her in almost a frantic gesture.

She feels her body fly through the air for one long second. During that instant, she can see his short-lived life flash before her very eyes. For a short period of time, there is no doubt in her mind that she would not survive this fall. 

Then she falls on her back in the bushes and her eyes catch a glimpse of something wrapped in a dirty old blanket and something else brushing past her face. After that, she comes to a stop with her face turned to the winter’s sun and her thoughts gathering in a daze.  
   
Afterwards, she simply lies down in the grass and dirt, and touches her face and hair, mumbling softly in relief when she realizes she’s still alive. Her dad will kill her if he knew how she had fallen on her first day out after a very long time.

The girl had been sick for weeks, stuck in her bed in her small bedroom, frustrated and upset because no one would allow her a breath of fresh air. The first time she could, she escaped home, heading to the stables her dad owned to mount her mare and escape for only a brief moment.

Her uncle, also her mentor, had rushed after her hastily, but she had taken off before he could stop her. Annie had been so relieved to be out riding again, that she had forgotten that sometimes it was best to start with ease.

Annie sighs in relief, sits up and immediately started making her way out of the quarry before her uncle can even reach her. He’s so upset it makes her feel guilty at once, his frantic eyes darting over her.

Her back still hurts, but the hurt comes more from wounded pride. The girl is a natural born horseback rider. She wants to crawl up as gracefully as possible before Lewis would come to pull her out.  
   
He had wanted her to stay on edge of Beacon Hills, but she had decided on her own to head out to the quarry she had discovered a few years ago. Their house was settled near the hills, making it the best place to try out whether she had lost her skills during her illness.

Lewis is terrible frantic, angry that his niece came way too close to the secret he is trying to hide.

“Annie, seriously,” he reprimands her. “You are taking too many risks, young lady. Are you doing okay?”

Her uncle’s face looms over her as he’s already attempting to go down in the quarry and rescue her from the small cave she had fallen into. His eyes search around, but finally he’s relieved that she hasn’t seen anything.

“I’m okay, uncle,” she hastens to say while she moves up from the area she fell before he can reach her, her hands touching the ground next to her to grab a hold of something. She catches a glimpse of something brushing by her arm, making her stop in her tracks as she looks aside.

Then her uncle’s hand is pulling her out by the elbow, and before she can recognize what it is that she saw, she’s out of the quarry and standing on her own two feet again.

“I’m okay,” she repeats, her pride more damaged than her body. Before her illness, she was a skilled rider, but now it seems she’s just grown too weak.

“You shouldn’t have taken Velvet. She’s too much for you to handle on your first day out. She’s fierce,” he reminds her. “You should have gone for Smart instead. Remember that for next time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” the child groans, passing him crossly as she tries to figure out what went wrong. Her horse was spooked by something that she couldn’t see and it unnerves her that she doesn’t know what was.  
   
Part of her is also nervous and upset that he told her off like this. He knows she’s good, so the fact he’s telling her to take it easier, makes her convinced that she might never be the same again after spending months in bed.

She wouldn’t tell her uncle, but it almost seemed as if there isn’t a single muscle inside of her that will still obey her. Why else had she dropped the reigns so easily, falling as if she were a toddler that was still learning to control a pony? She feels so foolish.

Annie tries to forget her anguish as she walks next to Velvet, guiding the horse over the hill back to their villa on the outskirts of Beacon Hills and its beautiful preserve. Lewis knows how she feels but doesn’t say a single word. He just escaped from having her find out about his secret. He wanted to take the opportunity to see the kid lying dead between the rocks, but he didn’t dare to do so, not with her near him.

So he strolls back behind her, taking in her defeated walk, knowing she’ll never attempt to go back there, which he’s not unhappy for. He wants her to stay away from here, but doesn’t dare to tell her face to face. He loves the child, she’s in fact probably the only one he truly cares about.  
   
Slowly he sees her compose herself, and he smiles, because he’s certain she’ll be fine. But he doesn’t realize that Annie’s mind is still trying to recapture what exactly has happened in that quarry. What has brushed past her face back there?

What has spooked her horse? What did she see right before she fell? It had looked like a blanket with something wrapped in it. She shakes her head, ignoring the sense that something is wrong. Yet her mind can’t recapture it.  
   
Annie ignores the urge to go back down there, thinking that it can’t possible have been a person lying there. It was an empty blanket, or something left behind by another rider or someone passing by. She shakes her head forcefully, pushing the thoughts away as she takes Velvet back to the stables.  
   
She leaves the mare in the caring hands of Lewis and proceeds to house, where her father waits for her angrily, grabbing her by the arm before she even manages to get in.

“Where have you been?” he calls out angrily. “We couldn’t find you. I called the sheriff, do you realize that?”

“I’m sorry,” Annie mutters shyly. “I just wanted to go out for a ride and Uncle Lewis was with me. I was fine, really.”

“Oh really? Then why do you have scrapes all over your face? You fell, didn’t you?” he sighs. “Oh god, Annie. I know you’re stubborn, but seriously, you should take it easy. You were still running a fever only four days ago and now you pretend that everything’s okay? It doesn’t work like that.”

“I was so tired of waiting, dad,” she admits, her eyes filling with tears. “I swear I thought it was okay, but something made Velvet startle and I fell in a quarry.”

He examines her cuts and bruises and then attempts to smile when he sees she’s doing fine. Gently he takes her into his arms, hugging her tightly.

“Let me run you a hot bath, so you can relax a bit, okay? Your mom will be home soon and I don’t want her to kill me,” her father smiles.

Annie smiles back, despite her aching body and concerns. Her dad does as he promises and runs her a bath, in which she gratefully rests for a while, relaxing as she tries to ignore the pain in her limbs and the nagging feeling in her mind.

About half an hour later, she hears a car drive up the lane, parking before the house. She gets dressed and walks downstairs, where she sees a sheriff’s deputy in the hallway, talking to her dad.

“I’m truly sorry to hear that,” she hears her father say. “Hopefully they’ll find him alive and well.”

“I hope so too,” the deputy says, looking up when he hears her footsteps come down the staircase. The young deputy smiles and shakes her hand.

“I’m Deputy Parrish,” he introduces himself. “I came to see if you were alright. Your dad had already warned us you were back, but I was in the area anyhow.”

“I’m okay,” she confirms, “thank you.”

“Next time you go horseback riding, you should warn someone,” he reprimands her.

“I know, but my uncle was with me and I thought I would be okay,” she says.

“You seem like a bright young lady,” Parrish smiles again, before addressing her father once more. “I’m really sorry but I have to go now and help the others. We are trying to scan as much area as we can before nightfall.”

“Just let me know if there’s anything I can do, Deputy,” her father says, shaking hands with him. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

When her father closes the door, she looks at him. “What is going on, dad?”

He frowns. “A missing person’s case, honey. Don’t worry too much about it.”

Annie doesn’t ask any more questions but watches the Deputy’s car as he takes off, resisting the urge to go back out there and see what is going on.

Instead, she walks into her bedroom on the upper floor of their huge house and opens the windows. Instantly she knows that’s the noise she’s been hearing while she took her bath. She thought she had heard cars before, but she couldn’t tell where. The sound of one vehicle already stands out in these parts, the noise of many is extraordinary to them. They are the farthest away of the town in the entire area.

She hears the cars and the people as they gather right outside her father’s domain. She knows something is very wrong now. And she’s scared.

That same feeling is nagging her again, tugging at the back of her mind. She has seen something, but she doesn’t know what it was that she saw.

Annie restless paces her room while she tries to figure out what is going on downstairs.

She knows they won’t tell her anything, so she sits in her bedroom and opens her iPad, trying to find a way to ease her mind. She’s tired, but whatever is nagging inside her brain, is making her upset.

Hours later, Annie walks back downstairs and finds her dad on the phone, talking to people she doesn’t know. Her mom arrives and speaks with him while he finishes his call.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Annie asks. “Who are they looking for?”

“The sheriff’s son,” her dad says quietly. “He’s been missing for a day.”

“Why are they searching here?”

“I don’t know, honey,” he says, holding her tight.

The doorbell rings again. Her mother opens the door towards a small group of people, all with tired faces and strained bodies. Annie knows they’re at a loss, and very troubled. The man standing in the front, is wearing a sheriff’s outfit.

It _is_ the sheriff, his blue eyes so tired she feels terribly sorry for him.

Behind him is a group of young people, all looking as troubled and concerned as he is. Annie instinctively knows the one is missing, is their friend. They’re all looking for him.

“I’m really glad you are willing to help us, Mr. Rhodes,” the sheriff speaks first. “We really could use some people who know this area very well. We have been searching all through the preserve, but we aren’t familiar with this area at all.”

“I am,” he smiles, “I grew up here. Let me get my coat and flashlight.”

“Thank you,” the Sheriff speaks, his eyes falling on Annie. “Are you the girl who fell earlier?”

She nods.

“Glad to see you’re okay.”

She smiles weakly. “And you are looking for your son?”

He nods sadly. “Yeah, I am.”

“Why are you sure he’s down there somewhere?” her mother asks.

“We followed his –“ The man standing right behind the sheriff, with grey eyes and a stubbly beard, stops all of a sudden. Then he completes, “we followed a trail which suddenly stopped. So we are pretty sure he is around these parts.”

“What’s his name?” Annie asks.

“Stiles.” The man with the stubbly beard catches Annie’s shock as she stares, not at him, but at the young woman standing behind him. The woman has long dark blonde hair and large eyes, which are fixed on her. The other woman next to her, with darker hair and dark eyes, looks just as concerned. They share their concern about the one who is missing.

There’s something about the look in the first girl’s eyes that freezes Annie. The young girl stares at her hands and the sleeves around her arms. The color of them reminds her of something. Annie remembers something, a trigger turning around in her head.

“Annie?” The strawberry blonde hair girl walks over to her, kneeling down at eyesight as she places her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “You remember something, don’t you?”

Annie’s mind gathers the recollection that has been bugging her for a couple of hours now, forming the image she can’t ignore any longer. It’s all becoming so clear now, why the hell hasn’t she remembered this before?

She recalls so clearly now what she has seen in the quarry, falling off her startled horse and catching the image in the blink of an eye. This is what scared off the horse in the first place too.

What she saw, was a pool of black hair surrounding a pale face. A face, belonging to a body, hidden in a bloodied blanket. There had been hands sticking out of the blanket, covered in sleeves of the same color as the blonde girl wears.

Now she knows what it is. It was a man or a teenager, covered up and ready to die in that dark cave. But he was alive when she saw him, he was alive!

The sudden knowledge makes her gasp for air, staring at her shocked as she reaches for the blonde girl’s arm to hold onto, feeling dizzy as her mind process what she saw.

“Tell me what you saw, Annie,” she presses on gently. “You saw him, didn’t you?”

She looks up at them all, her eyes filling with tears at the realization she lost a lot of time.

“I did.”

Lewis, living in the southern building on the large premises, looks up from his thoughts when he sees the group of people through the window, heading into his direction.

They know, is all he can think about, as he frantically gets up and wonders if he can still make a run for it. But he doesn’t, because he knows they’ve got nothing on him. Nothing at all. He’ll deny everything.

He knew this was coming the moment Velvet threw off his niece, sending her down into the quarry, sliding between the rocks and the tiny cave in which he had buried the teenager.

His brother pounds on his door. Shocked, Lewis opens, terrified that he’s going to go down forever. But he shouldn’t worry. The Sheriff doesn’t come to arrest him either, he comes to ask for his help, alongside the large group of people that are searching for the boy.

Excitedly, his brother tells him what happened to Annie.

“She’s very upset,” he says, “you were there too, Lewis. You know where she fell. Can you take us there immediately?”

“I don’t know –“ he hesitates. “I’m not sure where –“

“Please, you have to remember,” the Sheriff presses on. “My son might be out there, hurt and wounded and probably already frozen to death. I need to find him, alive or –“ His voice breaks. “Please, I need to find him, no matter what.”

Lewis nods, staring out in the cold darkness. “I think I might still remember the way.”

“Thank you,” the Sheriff sighs in relief.  
  
Lewis changes into warmer clothes and walks outside, where a lot of people are waiting for him, staring at him expectantly. There’s a sense of stress amongst them all. He gazes at them, watching them intently as they wait impatiently for him to lead the way.

Stiles. That’s the name they use for the kid that he killed.  
   
Stiles.

“Thank you for helping us,” a dark-haired teenager says, moving first towards him. “It means a lot.”

Lewis nods and does as he’s asked. He goes out first, holding a flashlight, leading them all to the quarry where Annie fell and he buried Stiles, hoping from his heart that he’s dead.  



	4. Running out of time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter came faster than originally planned, but here you go ;)  
> Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter Four: Running out of time**  
   
Lydia Martin is frozen to the core, despite the warm coat she’s wearing. Her best friend Malia walks next to her, clinging onto her hand, holding her tightly against her to warm her up. Next to them, Derek, Scott, Liam, Kira and Derek walk almost in the same pace, almost in reverence.

The wolves use their true eyes, scanning the entire area for a sign of Stiles. In the end, they are absolutely at a loss. Stiles seems to have vanished off the face of the Earth, as they have discovered a day earlier.

All of them walk after the sheriff and his deputies who are using their large flashlights to show the other, human helpers the way. The search party is large, with a number of volunteers who have offered to help once they learned of Stiles’ disappearance. Scott’s mother is on standby at the hospital, nervously awaiting their find. Scott called her to explain what was going on, that they might actually have a lead.

The girl who might have seen him, Annie, is also with the group, along with her parents and her uncle, Lewis, who is now leading the way. The girl insisted on coming along, convinced she might still be needed. Lydia had taken an immediate liking to her and had told the others it was a good idea. Somehow, she felt the girl could still be of big help.

“Anything yet?” Malia whispers hoarsely, too tired and weary to hide her fatigue. Her usual self-composure has gone through the window.

Lydia shakes her head. No signs of death, which is good probably, but no trail leading them to Stiles either. Whatever connection she’s looking for, her mind refuses to cooperate.

Flashlights lit the darkened night. Several people from the search party are on the tips of their toes, searching through the bushes that lead to the quarry, while they talk amongst themselves.

Frustrated, Scott tries to get a grip on his growing anger and upset, confused he’s unable to scent Stiles, as if something is covering up his smell.

“We’ll find him,” Derek says, calming the older wolf down. “We have to.”

“I’ve called for an ambulance to meet us on the main road,” Parrish told Stilinski. “If we find him, we’ll save time at least.”

The Sheriff nods, but says nothing, his thoughts obviously all over the place. He doesn’t want to voice what they’re all saying, that all of this may already be way too late.

Annie bites her fingernails as she walks past her father right behind Lewis, who is expertly leading the way to the quarry. She sees the concern on the Sheriff’s face, embedded so deeply it almost feels tangible.

They all know that the chances to find Stiles alive by now are really slim, but they have to try. If they don’t, they’ll never forgive themselves for wasting time. And if they are too late, at least they’ll be able to bury his body.

Lewis stops all of a sudden, halting the search party. On top of the hill, he points downwards.

“It was right over there that Annie fell,” he tells them. “You should start looking over there.”

Annie frowns, because this is not what she remembers. She still knows. She wasn’t falling down to the left of the hill, it was further up, to the right, behind the steepest edge that Velvet didn’t like to climb in the first place.

“It’s further up,” she interrupts her uncle. “I’m very sure of it.”

She takes the lead now, guiding them up the path that she had taken Velvet, reliving exactly what she had done earlier. Her movements are self-assured, leading Lydia to believe her without a single hesitation.

"Are you certain, Annie?" Lewis says. "I didn’t think it was that far, to be honest.”

“Yes, it was, Uncle Lewis. There was a path near a rocky formation. I remember that rock had the face of a frowning, old man. I used it as my marker, in case you couldn’t follow and Velvet would take me too far.”

Annie ignores everyone and walks up the hill, using her own flashlight to do so. The others follow her immediately, Scott in the lead. He knows instinctively they should trust the young girl, who knows exactly what she’s doing. Lydia nods at the sheriff, telling him they’re onto something without uttering a single word.

Then they’re on top of the hill. More flashlights are light, making the area one large, eerie beacon of light. Everyone treads carefully, trying not to slip over the slippery rocks. Suddenly Annie’s eyes catch it, the quarry that is hidden for the world unless you know about it.

“There.”

Sheriff Stilinski gasps as he sees what Annie has spotted before. The others move forward, all of them standing on the hill, looking downward. The werewolves hide their eyes from the rest, using their true colors to scan the area more intently than anyone else.

At first they see nothing but the quarry, but then, just like a light switching on, they find what they were looking for.

Scott pushes past Annie, jumping into the quarry with ease, as light as a feather.  He’s instantly followed by Derek and Liam, all three of them using their werewolf skills to tread lightly into the quarry, making sure they won’t cause a fall of rocks.

The Alpha kneels down by the thick, dark brown blanket that lies like a large heap of nothingness underneath a rock formation, barely visible for anyone's eyes should you pass it by chance. But the werewolves see what’s under it. And now they know why they couldn’t trace Stiles with their scent. The blanket reeks of horses and dogs, so disturbingly strong it makes their eyes water.

There are some stones thrown on top of it, holding it down and out of sight. Immediately, tension fills the air, when Scott moves forward, horrified and terrified at first, scared to find his worst case scenario.

“Derek, over here,” he calls out to the man with the beard.

Sheriff Stilinski makes sure the area is lit brightly, shouting orders to his men as he makes his way inside the quarry too, standing to the side to allow the others to work, making sure his feet aren’t moving rocks.

And then he gasps, speaking his son’s name so loudly it horrifies them all. His voice breaks as he moves down the quarry, close enough to be able to help, almost breaking a leg as he slides down. Derek holds him up before he smacks face forward onto the rocks.

“Easy,” Scott warns, moving up to grab the Sheriff’s arm, but the older man hardly listens.

“Oh god, Stiles. Oh, son.”

Gently, Scott pushes aside the top of the smelly blanket. They can all see it then, both arms and hands sticking out of the blanket, both covered in blood. There’s a dirty, pale face with closed eyes and black hair buried underneath the brown fabric. Stiles’ features appears soon as Scott pulls the blanket away, while the others gently remove the rocks holding it.

Everything about the sight of Stiles, speaks of his ordeal. The more they pull away from the brown blanket, the more they see of him. Traces of blood ran over his left arm, hand and face. His right arm seems useless. His eyes won’t open when Derek leans forward and speaks gently to him, touching the skin of his face.

“Stiles. Stiles, can you hear us? We found you, you’re going to be okay now,” the older wolf speaks, pulling the sheriff closer so he can take a better look too.

Shaking, the sheriff leans down to caress his son’s skin. Relieved, he realizes it’s not cold.

“He’s alive.” Scott’s voice breaks the tensed silence, sending everyone into a frenzy.

Lydia feels her body shake, so upset is she that she could just fall apart right there and then. Then she feels it at long last, the urge to scream so hard it would shatter the rocks inside the quarry, sending them flying downward in a trace.

“Hurry up,” she whispers, her voice loud enough for the sheriff to hear. “Time’s up.”

The sheriff knows all too well he should trust Lydia, and he knows that she’s absolutely right. One glance at his son tells him they are indeed running out of time. Stiles is in very bad shape. It will take a miracle to get him out of here alive.

Parrish’ voice breaks the silence. “Where’s that goddamn ambulance?”


	5. The blanket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank again so very very much for the lovely comments!  
> On with the show ...

**Chapter Five: The blanket**  
   
United, the group pulls Stiles out of the quarry, lifting him with blanket and all from the gap he was buried in, underneath rocks and darkness. Too afraid to carry him up the hill, they decide to lay his body, out on the rocky surface instead.

The Sheriff kneels down by his son’s side as they gently unwrap the blanket, showing the extent of Stiles’ wounds by revealing his harmed body and pale face. Flashlights shine on him, showing the actual hurt.

From afar, you can tell how badly he’s been hurt. His face is covered in blood, his right arm lies in a twisted way, with stilled blood all over it. The rest of him, wherever a tear in his clothes is, is covered in cuts, lashes and bruises. His shoes are gone, to be found later on in the quarry. His legs were too long to be completely wrapped into the blanket.

And he’s oh so quiet, eyes closed, a frown on his face, even in deep slumber.

Annie’s heart breaks when the two girls make their way down into the quarry too, both of them so upset they’re crying. They’re in shock, that’s for sure. The Japanese girl and the younger teenager stay on top of the hill, both distressed too, but unmoving.

Deputies move in now, making their way down to the bottom of the quarry, frantically working out a plan on how to get him to the top of the hill.

“Shallow breath,” Derek says, touching Stiles’ throat. “He’s been shot, I believe at least once, maybe twice. His upper right arm was definitely hit. See that wound just below the scalp? That looks like he might have been struck by a bullet there too. You have to get help here straight away, or he won’t make it, Sheriff. He’s too close to death. He’s lost a lot of blood and he’s running a high fever. That arm is definitely infected.”

The sound of an ambulance appears in the distance, stopping on top of the hill at the directions of two deputies that run towards it over the small side road, not far from the quarry. Volunteers wait to see what they can do. Bright lights still shine over the area.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff keeps on repeating, talking to his son and putting his full focus on him. “You’re going to be okay, son. Please hold on.”

He moves his hand towards his son’s cheek and caresses him gently, his love for him clearly visible in every move. Then he reaches for Stiles’ good hand, hoping he’ll notice the warmth of his touch. Annie’s father hugs her, telling his daughter she did great and she might have saved his life.

The young girl remains distressed nonetheless, blaming herself for not remembering what she saw sooner. Behind her, Lewis watching unmoving, praying in silence that Stiles’ heart will give out and he won’t make it out of the quarry alive.  
   
Gently – blanket and all – Scott, Stilinski, three deputies and Derek lift Stiles’ body out of its rocky prison, using the blanket as a tool to carry him out. They tilt him above their hands, delivering him to the others far above them, keeping him up straight as much as they can.

Supported by the many volunteers and deputies, they manage to get him out of the quarry and to the top of the hill, where they lie him gently down on the ground. They cautiously support his neck, back and limbs. Stiles' head tilts slightly backwards and Annie can see the dried blood that runs from a wound above his brown. More blood pours from his arm, the wound reopening while they moved him. Instinctively, Lydia places her hands on top of it in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Malia takes off her sweater, tears it apart and uses the fabric to wrap Stiles’ arm in. Together, the two girls manage to stop the bleeding.

The teenager seems lifeless as a puppet, lying so quietly on the blanket, they all believe they were too late.

Annie cries when she sees the gentle care the search party has for the teenager. The Sheriff, Scott and Lydia are constantly talking to the dying teenager, trying to get movement or a reaction from him, but nothing follows.

Then the paramedics are there, carrying a gurney and medical bags with them, taking over while the others look on, while hoping for the best. They move him up and away from the smelly blanket, making sure his neck and back are supported, onto a board.

“Two gunshot wounds, hypothermia, severely hydrated and very faint heartbeat. He’s barely breathing,” Stilinski hears them say. “We need to get oxygen on him and fluids into him straight away. High fever, that arm is definitely infected.”

“It’s a miracle he’s still alive at all,” Derek mutters. “We should have found him yesterday.”

The paramedics place an oxygen mask over him nose and mouth, strapping him into hospital blankets as they move him onto the gurney, making sure his body is already being warmed up slowly. After that, they insert an IV, getting fluids pushed into him straight away.

“We have to go now,” the doctor says, “he’s in bad shape, sheriff, but he’s been holding on, so we might stand a good chance of survival. We’ll do scans and X-Rays of his neck and back at the hospital immediately. He’ll need surgery to get that bullet out of his arm and I’m afraid he might have broken a few ribs too. His wrist is swollen and right leg is pretty badly hurt too. Are you coming with us?”

“Yeah.” Stilinski frowns, looking helplessly at his deputies.

“You go, I’ll take care of the rest here,” Parrish orders him.

The Sheriff looks at the two girls and Scott.

“They come too,” he says, warning the doctor there’s no arguing about that.

“I can’t do that, Sheriff. The ambulance is too small and I need to work on him,” the man reacts.

“We will come right behind you,” Scott promises, grabbing Stilinski’s arm. “Stiles needs you more than us right now. We will be at the hospital in no time, I swear.”

Jordan Parrish foresaw this, radioing a colleague at the office to head out here with a car. He tells the sheriff quietly he’ll drive them all back safely. The rest of them will hike back to the house, where all the other cars are waiting.

“You’re a good man, Parrish,” Stilinski sighs, rubbing his hair. “Thank you.”

“Go, Sheriff.”

With joined forces, the paramedics move Stiles to the ambulance, pushing him in. The volunteers watch, before scattering around in groups, knowing they’ve done all they can for now.

Malia, Lydia and Scott slide in the sheriff’s car, allowing Parrish to take the lead. The others of their pack look on quietly, horrified that they’ve come into this situation, but grateful that Stiles is still alive nonetheless.

“We’ll come immediately,” Derek promises Scott. “But we’ll help find for clues first. I want to find out if we can find any traces that might lead us to his attacker. You know we might be able to find more than they can. We’ll meet you there, Scott. You hang in there.”

The Alpha nods gratefully, thanking his former mentor for his help and support.

Then the doors slide shut. The ambulance leaves immediately, taking Stiles and his father to the hospital in a hurry, followed by the sheriff’s vehicle carrying Lydia, Scott, Malia and Parrish.

Annie looks at the moving cars, following their lights until she can’t see them anymore. Anxiously, she grabs her father’s arm tightly.

“Do you think he’ll make it?” she asks horrified.

“I hope so,” the man sighs. “As long as there is a heartbeat and breathing, there is hope, right? You have to hold onto that, Annie.”

Worried, Lewis frowns as he listens to his brother’s words. That’s exactly what troubles him the most right now. What if the kid holds on long enough? He hadn’t counted on that.  



	6. The hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for the many followings and beautiful comments on this story, I'm truly in awe and very flattered.  
> hope you'll enjoy the rest, there are many more chapters to come!

**Chapter 6: The hospital**  
   
A crew of medical assistants stand at the entrance of the Beacon Memorial Hospital, when the ambulance arrives. The doors slide open immediately, allowing the doctor and Sheriff Stilinski to slide out first. Then they pull the stretcher out, rushing inside with the body of the unconscious teenager they had received report on.

Almost immediately, the sheriff’s car stops near the entrance too, allowing its four entrance to get out fast. Worried, Deputy Parrish rushes in, accompanying Scott, Lydia and Malia who are frantic and terrified they’re too late to say goodbye to their best friend.

Melissa takes charge, along with Liam’s father, telling him about Stiles, giving him a rundown on his medical file. Stiles is wheeled into the ER-bay immediately, still unmoving and out of this world. He doesn’t respond to any stimuli.

“Blood pressure too low, he’s lost a lot of blood,” Dunbar says once they’re in a cubicle and five people worry over Stiles. “Two gunshot wounds: One the head, the other one to the upper arm, nicking an artery. He’s lost a lot of blood, but fortunately not life-threatening. Both wounds are definitely infected. Heartbeat irregular, dehydrated. Body temperature too low, but I’m afraid that’s only covering up a fever building up inside.”

Dunbar frowns as he looks his patient up and down, probing the bullet wound that feels warm under his touch.

“Stiles, can you hear us? Squeeze my hand if you can,” Liam’s stepfather asks. “Come on, let us know you’re still with us, buddy.”

Melissa listens quietly to the doctor while she cuts open Stiles’ clothes and examines his arms and legs for injuries, apart from the gunshot wound on his upper arm.

“The bullet is still in, we’ll have to surgically remove it as fast as we can,” the doctor says. “He might already suffer from led poisoning, if it has been in there for too long. How long did you say he was missing?”

“A day and a half,” Sheriff Stilinski speaks from the doorway, his fear written all over his tired features. “And it could be longer. He was gone when I got home and I had been pushing an all-nighter. I noticed too late he wasn’t there, and I was so busy that I didn’t even get to text message him. I thought he would be asleep anyhow, but he wasn’t there at all. His jeep was gone too.”

Stilinski trembles, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “Oh god, why didn’t I notice earlier?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Scott speaks from behind him. “You couldn’t have known.”

“From the high fever he’s running, I’m afraid he might have this slug a lot longer inside of him than just one night,” Doctor Dunbar says. “I’m guessing he was shot at least a day ago. We’ll be pushing antibiotics into him immediately, but we need to perform surgery on that arm right now, or he might lose it altogether.”

The sheriff takes a deep breath when he hears that, tears filling his eyes, his heart heavy with fears and sadness, pushing through to the surface. He’s held up strong as long as they were looking for Stiles, but he knew it was pretty bad as soon as he found Stiles gone.

After the Nogitsune, Stiles had text messaged his dad constantly, always telling him where he was, even if it only took a couple of words. It had become a habit. When he hadn’t done yesterday, John had assumed that he had fallen asleep, finally catching up after a few weeks of school and loads of work to do. And the sheriff had been pretty busy, working on a murder-suicide that took place that night.

The sheriff grabs his son’s warm hand, placing another one on Stiles’ forehead, hoping somehow Stiles will hear him. He ignores the nursing staff preparing his son for surgery, knowing they won’t chase him out just yet.

“You hold on, son,” he says strongly. “You made it this far, don’t you leave us now. I won’t let you go, you hear me?”

Gently Melissa takes the sheriff outside, leaving him into the hands of Scott and the girls, who are focusing more on the sheriff than their own concerns. They know the man needs help to get through this, with everything he has to lose in life, lying on that bed inside.

“He’ll do everything he can,” Melissa promises. “You know that, John. He’s a good man, a fantastic doctor.”

Stilinski sighs deeply, running his hands through his hair. “He’s all I’ve got, Melissa. I can’t lose him, not like this. Not without him knowing –“

“You won’t,” she vows. “Not as long as we can stop that from happening. He’s a fighter, you know that. Don’t you dare even think in that direction. He’ll pull through.”

Scott moves forward, grabbing his mother tight or a brief moment. Melissa holds onto her son, sighing deeply. It’s been a long day and it looks like the night might be even worse. Everyone knew about Stiles’ disappearance, it had been all over town. A lot of people had volunteered to look for him, including some of the medical staff. The waiting had been horrible, every second counting for a hundred. She had almost given up, when they called her to tell her they found him. Only, the way they found him, wasn’t that good either. He was very, very ill and very, very hurt.

“That girl saved his life,” Malia says quietly as they watch Melissa push back through the doors, leaving them in the waiting area. “If only she had known it earlier.”

"Sometimes the mind needs time to grasp what it has seen," Lydia replies. “She saved his life, that’s what it comes down to. He still stands a chance, thank to her. In the end, she came through.”

“She did,” Scott speaks quietly. “Without her, we would never have found him. He would have died alone, out in the cold, stuffed in a blanket as if he already was a corpse. We might not even have known where he ended up.”

The wolf looks away emotionally, unable to voice what he’s been thinking all along.

“I, on the other hand, should be blamed,” he finally utters. “I should have known something was wrong much earlier. I should have –“

“Scott, stop it.” Stilinski moves to the werewolf, hugging him tight. “You couldn’t have possibly known. Nobody knew he was gone, it was evening and you’re not joined at the hip.”

“If anyone is to blame, it’s me,” Malia speaks up, her dark eyes filling with tears. “I pushed Stiles too hard. He said he couldn’t handle it, that he needed time to think things through and decide on his future. If I hadn’t driven him away, he wouldn’t have been there. He would have been at home, instead of wandering about.”

“It isn’t anyone’s fault,” Lydia says quickly, stopping Malia straightaway. “We both pushed him, Malia. Or better yet, he pushed himself. Stiles was struggling with his feelings for the both of us for quite some time now, you know that. He had to think about it, needed some breathing space. That’s what he said. We just didn’t know he was having such a hard time with it all, that he would feel the urge to actually leave Beacon Hills for it.”

“But he didn’t leave, did he?” Scott asks. “He never even made it past the preserve.”

“The weekend bag in his jeep proves that he was planning to head out for a while though,” Malia states. “That was because of us.”

“Not only us, the whole situation,” Lydia speaks quietly. “You know he’s been struggling for a while, the recovery after his punctured lung took a while. And that poisoning really did a number on him. He’s been very weak physically and everyone keeps on bugging him he’s too skinny and should fatten up. I guess he just got tired of it all.”

“We know that Stiles tried to leave town,” John Stilinski speaks, “but somewhere along the road, he bumped into someone that tried to kill him. So stop blaming yourself, but find the bastard that did this to my son. Because I won’t rest before I get my hands on him either.”

The doors slide open suddenly, showing the bed with Stiles on it being pushed out by two nurses. He’s wrapped up in warm blankets again, an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, an IV pushing fluids into his arm. His upper right arm is covered in bandages. A deep, red gash on his forehead betrayed the gunshot wound that nicked his skull. It scares Lydia to death that this could have easily have taken his life.

“We’ll keep you posted,” Melissa says as the others follow their friend’s pale body until the elevators, knowing they’re not allowed to go any further. They won’t even get near the operating room, all they can do is wait for him to be brought out again.

With that, the nurse vanishes behind the doors, smiling encouragingly at them. Stiles made it through so far, he could still make it beyond this day. She just didn’t know if they would be able to save his arm.  



	7. The healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the lovely comments and following this story!  
> Hope you enjoy the next chapter! This one has some references to previous stories in the series, but you can read on without having to go and read those. ;)

**Chapter 7: The healing**    

Doctor Dunbar is facing a challenge. He knows that, standing in the elevator leading them to the operating theatre, watching the unconscious teenager. So far, Stiles hasn’t moved at all. He’s running a high fever and definitely still stands a chance of losing his arm. But Dunbar knows that he can do this, he knows he can save him and he’ll do all he can to make it happen.

Liam told him about Stiles, how the older teenager often takes care of him and became a good friend over the past months. Sometimes the doctor doesn’t get how his stepson could be so friendly with a couple of seniors, but they definitely took him into their circle of friends, making sure he felt at ease at school.

Liam calmed down quite a bit, even though the old rage often still builds up in him, making it sometimes hard for him to deal with his emotions. He sometimes looks ready to kill someone, frustrated when people talk back at him. And then Scott or Stiles come along and calm him down.

Dunbar knows that Stiles is important to his stepson. Watching the innocent face of the hurt teenager, he can imagine why. Stiles would walk through fire for his friends, which he did when they were attacked in the desert by a bunch of killers. Liam told him the whole story.

Melissa is by Stiles’ side, holding the IV-bag when they carefully lift him onto the operating table, hospital blankets and all. His clothes have already been shredded, he’s been dressed in a hospital gown in the ER.

The anesthesiologist does his work, sedating the teenager so they can work on the arm. Once Stiles is intubated, the tube lodged down his throat, they get to work.

They slowly unwrap the hospital blankets that cover his skinny form, staring for the second time at the damaged body of the hurt teenager. At the ER, they already did a quick scan, prodding for more injuries, cuts and bruises, but now it’s become apparent that Stiles’ body has suffered severely from lying at least one night out in the cold.

His skin still feels cold to the touch, almost like that of the dead. His fingertips are still bluish, but the color is improving rapidly. Luckily, the blanket in which he had been wrapped in, had kept him protected against the worst cold, but it hadn’t been enough to keep him completely from harm’s way either.

Once they remove the cocoon of blankets, Dunbar notices under the operating light, that it’s worse than he initially thought. The side of Stiles’ head is covered in blood, dried up but still proof of what has happened to him. The scar on his scalp proves he barely escaped death. They have to stitch that up, but it’ll be barely visible afterwards.

“He was lucky that bullet didn’t enter his skull,” Dunbar mutters.

The second bullet is lodged so deep in his arm, that Dunbar doesn’t know if he can get it out without damaging muscles and nerves permanently. That is their first concern now, to get the steel out ASAP to avoid blood poisoning.

Melissa stares shocked at Stiles’ upper body, with bruising and swelling clearly visible, most likely from the fall into the quarry. Despite the blanket, it must have been quite a ride down, as he’s covered in scrapes and cuts everywhere.

She remembers how, not even that long ago, his ribs were broken after he was involved in a car explosion. If they were broken again now, he might be worse off and his previously damaged lung might be damaged too. But, as soon as the doctor examines the chest properly, he can confirm it is mostly bruising.

“That head wound concerns me,” Dunbar tells her, as she cleans it gently and he goes to work on the arm, assisted by two nurses. “He was completely out of it when they brought him in. You know what the brain is like. We don’t know if he’ll get out of this on his own account. He’ll need time to wake up, and I can’t say how long.”

Doctor Dunbar is a patient man, who works thoroughly and without interruption. It takes nearly three hours to remove the bullet and to repair the extensive damage to Stiles’ arm alongside a neurologist and orthopedist, as the bone was shattered too. At the same time, his colleagues go to work to treat all the other wounds. But once he’s done, he’s fairly certain Stiles will be able to use his arm again. That is, if there are no infections already burning through his skin and bone.

They aren’t able to put a cast around the arm, as the wound could get infected underneath it and they wouldn’t be able to notice that before it’s too late. So they bandage it tightly and bind the arm against his chest, so he won’t accidentally use it once he wakes up.

After the arm has been taken care of, Dunbar examines Stiles’ skull, searching for more injuries. A scan reveals a possible concussion but no bullet fragments inside his head. Three ribs are bruised, his chest swollen, but there has been no further damage caused to his recovered lung at least.

“He’s is one lucky young man,” Dunbar tells Melissa relieved. “One inch further to the left, and he would have been dead for sure. A couple of hours later or a thinner blanket wouldn’t have protected him like this. Isn’t it ironic that his killer wrapped him up to hide him, but wound up saving him against the cold?”

“Ironic indeed,” Melissa replies. “Let’s just hope he’ll wake up soon.”

“That, I don’t know and can’t guarantee,” Dunbar sighs, taking the cap off his hair while he watches his colleagues cover up Stiles in warm hospital sheets and blankets, lifting him onto a bed. “But he seems quite strong, and from what I hear from Liam, he’s a real fighter.”

“That, he is,” Melissa smiles, her hand touching Stiles’ hair tenderly, her fingers caressing his scalp. “He’s amazing.”

“Your son’s best friend, right?”

“And much more, he’s like a son to me,” Melissa speaks fondly.

“Well, by the looks of it, he’s strong enough to survive this,” Dunbar smiles.

After two hours in recovery, without Stiles even moving an inch, they take him to the ICU for further monitoring. It troubles Dunbar that his patient has shown no signs of waking up just yet, but considering the circumstances, not that unusual.

After he’s hooked up to machines and covered in more blankets to keep him warm, Melissa stays with him for a while, staring at his still form.

“I’m not used to you lying so quietly, Stiles,” she tells him gently. “Now all you have to do is open your eyes and let us know you’re doing fine, you hear?”

Tenderly, she caresses his hair again, feeling the motherly support for him he’s been missing for so long. Reluctantly she leaves him alone in the room, hooked onto monitors that will alert them should there be a change. He looks as white as the sheets covering him.

Melissa arranges that the group can stay with him, knowing they need each other’s support. She hopes fiercely that Stiles will wake up when he hears them speak, but so far, he hasn’t shown a single sign of waking up, no matter who it is that speaks to him.

Derek, Kira and Liam have arrived at the hospital too, staying with the others in the waiting room. Derek has been handing out warm drinks, taking over the fatherly role because the Sheriff isn’t capable of doing so. It’s the middle of the night, but nobody wants to leave, determined to show their support.

In between his concerns for his son, John Stilinski has also been talking to Parrish who has returned to the crime scene to search for traces of Stiles’ attacker. It’s pretty obvious to anyone he was attacked, shot and left for dead at the quarry. The blanket in which he was wrapped in, has been sent to the lab, hoping they’ll find DNA or hairs on it.

Stilinski is the first one to enter the ICU-unit, where he finds his son lying deathly still in the bed, standing in the center of the darkened room. Not a single sound is heard, except for the monitors that show them he’s still breathing and his heart is beating. That’s a good sign, at least. An oxygen mask rests under his nose.

“All we can do is wait for him to wake up,” Melissa explains the group as they circle around the bed, staring at Stiles’ pale features. Lydia places her hand on his wrist, hoping he’ll sense her presence. Malia is at his other side, looking at Lydia as she touches Stiles’ shoulder.

The girls stare at each other, both feeling guilty as hell for putting Stiles into this situation. To them, it feels as if it’s all their fault, that they drove him away. The guilt they felt earlier, returns in full force.

“This is nobody’s fault,” Stilinski says, breaking the awkward silence. “You hear me? This is only the fault of the person who shot my son. And all I care about right now, is that my son is going to be fine. The rest can wait.”

Melissa brings in chairs and makes sure they’re all comfortable. Then she closes the door, leaving them in peace with Stiles while she goes to rest in one of the hospital’s nurses’ quarters.

Stiles doesn’t react to anything. Not the words gently spoken to him, not the whispers of his best friends, nor the speech of the two girls that are head over heels about him. Nothing seems to help. Scott tries to get through to his best friend by placing his hand on his cheek, whispering to him he should wake up now. But he doesn’t listen, not even when his dad talks to him for about an hour, telling him stories about the past.

“The head wound is the one that’s keeping him so quiet,” Dr. Dunbar comes in to explain in the early morning, as the sun rises.

“How long?” Stilinski asks hoarsely.

“Unfortunately, we don’t know when he’ll wake up,” Dunbar confesses. “I’ve done a few scans and they showed he has no brain damage, but the thing with head traumas is that you never know how deep the mind has sunk. All you can do, is wait until he wakes up. I have to warn you though, that this might take while.”

“What about his arm?” Scott asks troubled. “He’s right-handed.”

“That’ll be fine,” Dunbar explains. “As long as the wound doesn’t get more infected and we can take care of it properly. He’ll need to some therapy, but with good support, he can use it fully again. As you can see, we are still working on getting his body temperature to normal. He was out in the cold for a long time. He was lucky, keep that in mind.”

Dunbar leaves them alone again, allowing them to stay with Stiles while the rest of the hospital starts to come alive again.

Slowly, the werewolves feel how Stiles’ form returns to normal warmth, but he still won’t wake up. His breathing is still ragged and often he seems to be struggling for air underneath his oxygen mask, even in his darkest hour.

And then the fevers come.


	8. The fevers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much again for your following, comments and kudos!   
> I'll try to post often, the story is still a work in progress, but progressing ;)

**Chapter 8: The fever**

 Soon, a fever rages through Stiles’ body, caused by the infected wounds to his head and arm. A rasping sound escapes his throat, exiting through his mouth, clearly audible underneath the mask. Then he starts talking, muttering strange words that they couldn’t make any sense of.

Dunbar and Melissa come back in troubled and ask them to leave the room. More nurses and a doctor enter the room. Sheriff Stilinski rubs his forehead, frowning when he realizes he might still lose his son.

Through the glass, John can see how they remove the bandages from his upper arm, discuss the infected wound and rinse it. Stiles is still completely out of it, but somehow they can tell he feels what they’re doing to the injury.

He cries out suddenly in his sleep and Melissa grabs his hand, placing a cool cloth on his forehead. He doesn’t open his eyes, but they know he’s in pain. Dunbar gives him more pain medication and rinses the wound one last time, before bandaging it again. Scott sees how dark the skin around the injury is. He knows that this is bad news.

Finally, Lydia can’t take it anymore. She goes inside and grabs Stiles’ hand, soothing him back to calm. He seems to listen to her voice, recognizing her and relaxing when he feels he’s not alone.

Then it becomes eerily quiet. The group is no longer allowed in the room, except one by one, sitting with him in silence. Sometimes they think he’s going to die, because the raspy breathing stops and his chest is no longer rising and falling. After brief, tensed moments, he breathes out again.

Lydia shakes her head, telling them all that he’s not going to die. He’s very ill, but he’ll live. He calms down at long last. She falls asleep with her head on his hand, waking up hours later with a blanket draped over her. She looks up to find Scott kneeling down by her side, touching her arm.

“You should get some sleep,” he says gently. “I’ll take over.”

"How is he?" she asks with calm voice, rubbing her tired eyelids.

“My mom says he’s improving, but it’s too early to tell yet.”

Lydia looks up to stare at Stiles’ features, noticing the change in him immediately. He’s lying on his left side now, with his hand stretched out and still in hers, his eyes closed. His right arm is bound to his chest again. He’s calmer, takes deeper breaths and no longer fights against the oxygen mask, feeling it helps him.  


The rasping sound escaping from his throat is nearly gone and his face seems to have regained most of the color. He looks better.

“He still hasn’t opened his eyes?”

“No, and the doctors don’t know if he ever will,” Scott says quietly, confessing to her what Dunbar said. “He’s not a coma, but he’s not far from it. If he slips into one, we might never get him alert again. I can’t imagine that, Lydia, it would kill me if we lost him like this.”

“You’re afraid he’ll still die,” Lydia says quietly.

Scott nods, unable to say it out loud.

“He won’t die, Scott,” Lydia reacts firmly. “He’s too strong.”

“I hope so, because I don’t want him to end up like the girl he tried to save.”

Lydia holds her breath, staring at her friend. They’re all upset, very distressed about what they had discovered before they found Stiles. They hadn’t been prepared for all of this. In fact, no one had seen disaster coming.

By the time they realized Stiles was missing, he had disappeared and they still had no idea how or why this happened. They just knew he was gone, probably hours later, too late to pick up his scent or trace.

He hadn’t told his dad about the fact he was leaving town for a while, nor had he explained anyone else. John Stilinski still didn’t get that. He was very surprised his son wouldn’t even tell him that, but they had a theory about it, thinking he might have been indecisive about whether or not to leave. He only put one T-shirt and an extra pair of shoes and jeans in his overnight bag. He hadn’t taken anything of value, apart from his smartphone. And he probably left head over heels, not thinking it through when he decided to leave town for a while.

During their search for him, they had accidentally found the dead girl in a small cottage only a few miles from Beacon Hills, hidden at the edge of the preserve. The cottage was not so far from the old abandoned factory, built there years ago by hunters who had long abandoned it. Everything inside smelled awful, the door was crooked and the windows shut. There were traces of three pairs of feet on the floor, clearly visible because of all the dust on the wooden floor.

The girl’s find had been a huge shock to them all, because no one ever expected her to be there. Inside, apart from her corpse, they had found Stiles' jacket in a pool of blood on the wooden floor. The sheriff identified it himself. It was pretty evident his son had been there when the girl died. For one long moment, they thought about the option that Stiles might have been involved in her death, something they immediately cut off as being impossible.

Derek had told the sheriff quietly that he smelled Stiles’ blood inside the cabin, which instantly alarmed them all. They found two pools of blood, one underneath the girl, the other one near the far off wall. One bullet was embedded in the wood, shattering part of the beam.

The sheriff remembered looking up at his friends and co-workers with a worried frown.

“I believe my son has been shot. We need to find him fast, he might be out in those woods by himself, bleeding to death.”

One team investigated the crime scene, while another one set out to search for Stiles in the preserve.

They didn’t know who the dead girl was, she didn’t live in Beacon Hills and was not reported as missing. So how did she end up in the cottage with Stiles? The only one who could tell them that, was Stiles himself, if they ever found him alive.

Tracing his smartphone didn’t help, as the device lay with empty battery on the floor of his jeep, found a few minutes later at the west entrance of the preserve, hardly ever used these days. The fact that Stiles had abandoned his jeep and his phone, troubled the Sheriff immediately. When they tried to start the jeep, they found the engine malfunctioning, causing the sheriff to mutter something about ‘duct tape’.

Their theory was that Stiles was trying to walk out of the preserve on foot, trying to catch a ride back into town. But then, why would he leave his phone behind? The sheriff knew his son couldn’t last long without his precious smartphone. They always joked he would save the phone before his dad out of a burning house.

For nearly a day they searched through the preserve, until they wound up at the house of Annie’s family, near the furthest area of the preserve, where hardly anyone came. It was all that lasted after a long time of searching and exploring the woods.

Stilinski didn’t want to voice his fears that Stiles might have been abducted and dumped somewhere, far away from Beacon Hills. He could be miles away, he could be buried somewhere. He had too many negative possibilities running through his head that he didn’t wish to think about.

Until he saw the look on that young girl’s face, struggling to remember something.

It was only due to Annie's fall down the quarry that they had discovered the truth so quickly, still leaving them with hope for Stiles’ survival. But they were all worried sick, that it would still be too late.

Lydia looks at her best friend lying on the bed, so still it’s unbearable. She’s unable to lose the worry in her eye, not even for a single moment. If only they could predict the future, it would help to settle their minds.

Melissa comes in again, checking his vitals. The Banshee stands immediately, following the nurse’s frown as she reads the results.

"Tell me the truth," Lydia pleads. “It’s not over yet, is it?”

“I’m afraid not,” Melissa sighs. “The fever won’t go down and his arm feels very warm. I’ll go get the doctor. I’m afraid we’ll have to clean the wound even deeper than we already did. The infection might have spread down his bloodstream. In that case …

Lydia leans over her friend and touches his face, praying for him to look at her, to tell her that she shouldn’t worry so much.

“Stiles,” she whispers, “it’s me. You have to listen to me. Open your eyes, okay? You can do it, come on, Stiles.”

She pleads with him quietly, her voice soothingly speaking into his ear. Scott watches her from the door, worried about the Banshee too. He knows how much she cares about Stiles and it aches him that she’s so upset. Malia, he could help, but Lydia has always been so independent.

Suddenly, Stiles responds. Still lying on his side, the teenager opens his eyelids and stares at her, seeing only face and Scott’s, moving closer to the bed. Instantly Melissa approaches the bed too, beckoning for the Sheriff and Derek who are standing outside. She hopes their presence will help soothe the teenager’s upset.

But Stiles isn’t frantic or thrashing around. He’s too quiet for their linking, very passive in his reactions.

“Stiles, can you hear us?” Melissa asks troubled.

He nods, his eyes filled with recognition, but his voice buried beneath his cracked, dry lips. He’s still breathing through the oxygen mask, not even fighting it. 

"You’re back," Lydia speaks gently.

He tries to say something at long last. Melissa removes the mask, caressing her hand through his hair to comfort the young man she loves as much as her own son.

“Lydia –“Stiles pushes out tiredly.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she smiles relieved. “How are you feeling?”

He groans lightly, sighing deeply as he grasps her hand with his left one, allowing his broken arm to rest on his chest without protest. “It hurts.”

Lydia frowns, a sudden cry filling her insides. She turns to Melissa frantically.

“Something’s wrong, I can feel it. You need to help him.”

“I’ll get the doctor,” Melissa says, hurrying out of the room.

Stiles grasps Scott’s wrist tightly when the werewolf comes closer, wincing at every move and then quietly slipping back into the void as his eyes close once more. Scott feels the pain radiate from his body, so strong it makes him hiss.

"Stiles? Stiles!" Lydia screams as he slips away.

Melissa returns with Dr. Dunbar, who pushes them all out of the room while he examines Stiles with the aid of another colleague and the neurologist who operated on his arm. Opening the teenager’s eyelids, he sees dilated pupils. Dunbar lifts Stiles’ shirt, to reveal a large bruise forming on his side, hidden by the shallow bruises he gained from his fall.

Before, it seemed harmless. Until now.

“Internal bleedings,” Dunbar curses. “We need an ultrasound _now_.”

Instantly, a portable machine is rolled in, the echo revealing Stiles’ torn and bleeding kidney. Lydia holds her breath, pushing back tears as Dunbar orders to prepare an operating theatre, pushing Stiles’ bed out of the room himself, almost running with him to the elevators.

Within ten minutes, Stiles is under again, with surgical blades cutting open his skin, slicing through flesh, muscle and nerves to reach the damaged kidney. Dunbar works feverishly while repairing the damage, pushing bags of blood into Stiles at the same time, while hoping and praying it’s not too late.

Hours later, as they close him up, Dunbar realizes he might have made a mistake. He just hopes it won’t cost Stiles his life.  



	9. If only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much again for the lovely comments and following!   
> For those who are so fond of Annie, she's back ;)

**Chapter 9: If only**  
   
"If only we had known sooner.”

Derek frowns as he rubs his forehead, portraying his fatigue. The older werewolf sinks down on a chair after hours of pacing, unable to control his frustration. If only they noticed Stiles was gone sooner. If only they had known Stiles was seeking out solitude to think about his future. If only they had found the quarry earlier. If only …

His frustration radiates from him, even though he knows deep down there was nothing else they could have done. Stiles hadn’t warned any of them, probably acting impulsively as he left town in his precious jeep. Even John Stilinski said so. Stiles had the habit of wandering off, needing the solitude as a backfire against the constant anxiety he feels.

The oldest of werewolves feels a certain responsibility towards the teenager, even if there’s nothing much he can do except protect and help Stiles against the darkness. He knows the human often struggles with the supernatural creatures that roam Beacon Hills, attracted to this place like a true beacon calling them out.

Sheriff Stilinski places a hand on Derek’s shoulder, smiling weakly at the werewolf he once distrusted so much. He feels a certain fondness for the man now, ever since they cooperated together to get the Nogitsune out of Stiles. He knows Derek had a rough patch, losing his family in such a gruesome way. The wolf has learned how to trust again and the sheriff senses that.

“You should get some sleep, Derek. Not even a strong werewolf can keep up these sleepless nights. Go find a bed,” John tells him.

The wolf doesn’t want to go, he wants to take turns staying with Stiles and do his duty. But in the end he does what the sheriff says, casting a worried glance at Scott who is in there right now, with a still unmoving Stiles. They don’t want to leave him alone, monitoring every change in breathing, fever and amount of pain.

“Wake me if there’s a change,” Derek ends before retreating to a room assigned to them, dropping tiredly on a bed, asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

Everywhere at the hospital, as close to the ICU as they can possibly be, teenagers and adults lie asleep. They take turns staying by Stiles’ side, while the rest of them are scattered over empty rooms, not one willing to sleep, but finally always winding up doing so. It’s been nearly a day and a night since they found Stiles, but it seems like an eternity to them.

In the morning, as the sun breaks through the windows, they wake up one by one, happy to have escaped their nightmares. Outside, life proceeds as it always does. Life goes on, unstoppable by any force. People start to roam the hospital corridors, nurses start their rounds, surgeries are happening. Everywhere, there is a buzz and activity, except in the ICU-unit where Stiles is still lying deadly quiet on his bed.

Stilinski was the last one to stay at his son, before Dunbar came in to ask him to leave for a moment so he could examine Stiles. Reluctantly the man does as asked, fearing the doctor will come out with more bad news.

As they gather outside Stiles’ room, good news finally arrives. Dr. Dunbar has not slept either, feeling so guilty over Stiles’ unexpected injury, he knew he wouldn’t get a good night’s sleep anyhow. So he stayed, taking care of his patient, monitoring every change or sign for the better or worse, finally feeling relief when he realizes they’ve made it.

He comes outside with a certainty that Stiles will live and that he will keep his arm, even though it will take a long time and therapy to regain its full use.

“His fevers have come down and the wounds are beginning to heal,” he explains. “And I have some good news. He opened his eyes briefly and spoke to me. He recognized me.”

“Oh god,” Lydia says, placing a hand before her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. “Is he really going to be fine?”

Dunbar smiles weakly and tiredly. “Yes, I believe he will be okay. If he wakes up again, I’ll let you in, under the condition all of you are going to get some breakfast first. How does that sound?”

“Like a plan,” Stilinski smiles, “but I’m going back to my son, if you don’t mind. I’m sure Derek won’t mind bringing me a sandwich. You guys go ahead.”

The older wolf smiles and nods.

“Can I stay too?” Malia asks.

“Sure,” Dunbar says. “You guys are absolutely amazing. Liam always goes on about how close you all are, and I have to say he wasn’t exaggerating. Thank you for taking care of my son too.”

Scott smiles weakly, knowing the doctor still has no clue his stepson is a werewolf. It’s not up to him to tell him the truth.

The Alpha takes the group, except for Malia and Stilinski, to the restaurant. On the way over, they see a familiar face. Annie, the girl who saved Stiles, and her father, walk over to them, the girl carrying a huge bunch of flowers.

“We just came to see your friend,” Annie speaks hesitantly. “How is he?”

“He’s going to be just fine,” Scott says, smiling gratefully at the girl who was smart enough to discover the truth about Stiles. “Thanks to you so much, you saved him. Annie, right?”

The girl nods, her eyes still very concerned.

“Are you sure he’ll be fine?”

“Yeah.” Lydia smiles at the girl. “He’ll be okay. He’ll wake up any moment now.”

“Do you already know what happened?” Annie’s dad asks. “Did you find his attacker yet?”

“No, he hasn’t been able to tell us the details,” Derek explains, “but we’re hoping that’ll happen soon, so we can catch the guy who shot him.”

“You must be a horrible person to leave someone behind like that,” Annie says fiercely. “Who would do that?”

“Do you have any idea how he wound up at the quarry?” her father asks. “You were searching very specifically in our neighborhood, so I am assuming you had a lead of some sort.”

“It’s a long story,” Derek says, “but why don’t you join us for breakfast and we can talk about it? We might need you to help figure this out anyhow. It’s your territory we were on, and where Stiles was dumped. Since it’s not that known around Beacon Hills, I have reason to believe we’re looking for someone who knows the area really well.”

As they walk over together to the restaurant, Annie sees the distress on the faces of the teenagers.

“You are good friends, aren’t you?” the girl asks, addressing Lydia. “Is he your boyfriend?”

The Banshee smiles. “That’s a long story. Call him someone who is very important in my life. I can’t imagine it without him, to be honest. He’s always been in it for as long as I can remember, even though I have no idea how I could have missed him when he was younger.”

“What do you mean?”

“Stiles had a crush on Lydia forever,” Kira explains smilingly, winking at the Banshee who groans embarrassed. “And she had many boyfriends, but only one best friend.”

“Stiles?” Annie asks.

“Yes,” Lydia smiles as they enter the restaurant and pick out breakfast.

“How can he be your best friend and not your boyfriend?” Annie prods.

“Because people are often blind about what’s in front of them,” Derek states bluntly, ignoring Lydia’s flushed cheeks. “And when they do get it, it’s often too late.”

Lydia pushes back her tears as she loses all appetite, realizing Derek is all too right. She didn’t see anything until it was nearly too late. When Stiles was hurt during the car explosion, she thought she had lost him forever. But she didn’t act upon it. She was there for him, saved his life even, but she never told him how much she really loved him. And later on, when he was accidentally poisoned and his heart stopped, she finally dared to tell him, leaving him stuck between a rock and a hard place.

He loves Malia, she knows that. But he loves her too. And they both care for and love him. That’s the reason why he’s in that bed right now, recovering from this ordeal. Had she told him much earlier, he might never have been together with Malia. He might have waited for her, he might not even have seen Malia as a potential girlfriend.

But she had let him go.

As they sit down and munch on their breakfast, Annie watches them all, seeing the mixed emotions on their faces. The group is all so tired, but they refuse to give in, devouring their food quickly so they can return to Stiles’ room as fast as they can.

It makes her happy that she helped save him. If only she had remembered it sooner.

“I’m sorry I didn’t remember earlier,” Annie finally blurts out, proving her distress. “I should have known, I should have recognized him lying there. He would have been found much earlier.”

Derek immediately rises, holding the young girl against him as she starts to cry.

“You are not to blame,” he speaks firmly. “Okay, Annie? You saved him, always remember that. You saved his life, you should be proud of that. We all are.”

Annie bursts into tears of relief, happy she could finally say what had been eating her alive. She can’t even begin to explain it yet, but she has a feeling Stiles is very important to her, and she doesn’t even know why.

**  
**


	10. The disappearance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for following, commenting and liking the story!   
> Feedback is very much welcome!

**Chapter 10: The disappearance**

Frederic Knowles, Annie’s father, stands at a distance as he watches, alongside his daughter, how the group smiles at each other relieved, having learned the good news Stiles has woken up again and is doing better by the hour.

“He’s too weak to speak right now and I’ve given him a slight sedative because he was so tensed,” Dunbar explains, “but I’m guessing you’ll be able to interrogate him later this afternoon. For now though, he needs his rest and so do you guys. So I’m ordering all of you to go home and take care of yourselves. Come back later, I’ll keep you posted if there’s any change, okay?”

With that, Dunbar decides for them what to do. Stilinski looks at the group, his face still wrinkled with fatigue, but oh so relieved that his son is going to be okay.

“I’m going to need statements from all of you,” he says, rubbing his hair, “and help. We need to figure out what happened to Stiles so we can already start putting the pieces of the puzzle together. I’m hoping he’ll be able to fill in the gaps, but for now, I need to go on what you guys can tell me.”

The group decides to head for the police station together, splitting themselves up over different cars. None of them want to head home and pretend life’s going to continue as always. Too wired to sleep or catch any rest, the close union sticks together.

Frederic and his daughter follow in their own vehicle, at the sheriff’s request. Annie’s story has to be turned into an official statement too and he wants to do this as quickly as possible, now that she still remembers a lot. He’s pretty sure she can provide them more details, her mind seems to work incredibly fast.

“She’s smart,” Lydia says quietly, sitting next to the sheriff in his car.

“She reminds me of you,” John replies, smiling back at the Banshee he’s grown fond of over the past years. “Stiles told me once that you pretended to be a lot less intelligent than you really are, downplaying your wits because you were too embarrassed about it.”

“Did he say that?” Lydia smiles, remembering the first time he told her straight in her face that she had to stop pretending, that he saw right through her. Thinking about all the times he spoke to her, when no one else would, when she was still in her relationship with Jackson, who wanted nothing more than a girl to parade with, she had grown to like Stiles, seeing through the awkward appearance and that godawful buzz cut he used to sport. He saw straight through her make-up and fancy clothes, while she saw straight through the clothes and haircut that made him look like a very young geek.

And now, when she sees how others gaze at him, how he has grown up and changed, she doesn’t even care anymore if he were to shave his head bald. She really sees who he is now, and the appearance doesn’t matter whatsoever anymore.

Malia leans forward from the backseat of the car and places her hand on Lydia’s shoulder, as if she knows exactly what she’s thinking.

“Now that he’s going to be fine, we can focus on finding the asshole that did this to him” the coyote speaks firmly. “I’d love to have his balls for dinner.”

John Stilinski snorts out loud. “I thought you only loved deer?”

“I could be persuaded to change my diet,” Malia mutters, leaning back again, while gazing outside. Lydia looks over her shoulder, turns to her side and grabs Malia’s hand tightly, squeezing it gently.

“Killing whoever did this, doesn’t solve anything,” she speaks quietly but firmly. “But I wouldn’t mind throwing him in the Eichen House closed unit with some crazed out vampires.”

“Oh god, don’t tell me those exist too,” Stilinski groans, pulling up at the police station. “Do I need to add wooden stakes to my weapon collection too?”

“Nah,” Kira snorts, stuffed in the middle between Scott and Malia. “She’s just messing with your head.”

“It’s not because we haven’t seen them yet, that they don’t exist,” Scott mumbles, a smile plastered all over his face, causing John Stilinski to groan once more.

 

Inside the police station, the group sits down on the wooden benches, waiting patiently for their turn to be interrogated. Stilinski has asked Lydia to stay with him as he interrogates Annie, knowing the girl has taken an immediate liking to the Banshee.

Annie gives her statement thoroughly and into detail, telling them everything from the moment she woke up, up until the second she realized she had seen Stiles lying in the quarry. She was pretty accurate about everything, up until the hour it all happened.

“You should join our forces when you grow up, Annie,” the sheriff smiles, patting her on the shoulder. “You did an amazing job.”

The girl beams and smiles when the sheriff asks her father to come on and sit down with them. As Frederic takes a seat, Stilinski explains to them what they know, a promise he made to both when they spoke earlier at the hospital. He feels that they might be of help and trusts them with the details. The others come in too, sitting in chairs while the sheriff resumes the information he has gathered so far from the others.

“Two days ago, Stiles went missing,” he begins. “I have to be honest and tell you that we had no idea at first that he was gone. All we know is what we have gathered from his friends.”

With that, he gazes at the others, who listen quietly.

“Around 4 pm, right after school, he had a slight argument with Lydia and Malia and took off alone, most likely to our house. I have evidence he was there, found half-eaten sandwich and some soup on the kitchen counter. He was also in his room, I retrieved some of his study books in his bedroom.”

Stilinski gets up and stands before his white board, jotting down the hours they’re certain of.

“Stiles always eats at 7 when he’s home alone. He’s very punctual about that. So I’m assuming that this was the same case last night. His laptop was closed in his bedroom, but I found a document on it that he saved around 8.30 p.m. Since the device was left behind, I believe that he had been writing that school assignment at home and then closed off the laptop. One of my neighbors saw the jeep drive off the driveway at 9.30 p.m. I have my deputies trying to recreate the road he took to the preserve, but, calculating the distance and the location of his abandoned jeep, he would have been there around 9.55 p.m.”

“And nobody else saw him?” Annie asks.

“I’m afraid not,” Stilinski frowns. “Lydia tried to call him several times, but he never responded. Scott has called him twice during the evening too and sent about four text messages, but it’s not abnormal that he doesn’t reply. They both assumed that he had fallen asleep. When I came home around 1 a.m., his jeep wasn’t there. I didn’t find this abnormal because he often spends the night at a friend’s house, but when he didn’t reply to my text messages or phone calls, I started contacting them. Turned out none of them had seen him ever since he left school and also hadn’t been able to reach him. So we immediately knew something was very wrong.”

Stilinski sighs when he remembers what happened next.

“I put out an APB to find the jeep. My deputies have been searching for it for the rest of that night all over Beacon Hills, finally assuming he might have taken off to the preserve. That was the last signal we tracked down on his smartphone, before that went dead. That was around 5.10 a.m. Early morning, we found it standing in the middle of the preserve, standing on the side of the road, with his smartphone, battery empty, still in it and no trace of him. The keys were still in the ignition, which was quite odd. We assumed that he took off on foot to fetch a ride, but the fact he left his jeep like that, for anyone to take, wasn’t his style. It instantly triggered alarms in my head. What happened after that, we don’t know.”

Stilinski looks at Annie, asking the girl to go with one of his deputies. Instantly Frederic knows that the next part is not going to be good. He’s right.

“We tried to trace Stiles’ hike through the preserve. I’ll save you the details on how we did that,” he says, staring briefly at Derek who smiles faintly, realizing he won’t be able to explain the part about following Stiles’ scent and chemical signals. “But we lost his trail at one point, because of the rain that washed away all traces. It was a cold night and still we didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just walk back into town using the main road. He knows the preserve really well, so why would he hike through the forest? He would have bumped into someone sooner or later had he stayed on the road. So I started realizing that there was more going on and he might have been forced out of the jeep. We found some signs of struggles.”

_And chemical signals that referred to pain and fear._

Derek looks at the sheriff. “He most likely bumped into something he wasn’t supposed to see, which is what the evidence tells us, right Sheriff?”

“I’m afraid so,” Stilinski frowns again. “Since Stiles was nowhere to be found on the main road and nobody had seen him, we went into the preserve, deeper and deeper, trying to locate any trace of him. Then we found a small, hidden cottage near your home that we had no idea of. We went in and found a young girl, barely eleven years old, murdered. She had been stabbed and strangled. Her body lay in the middle of the cottage, next to Stiles’ sweater and a pool of blood, most likely coming from him. That’s when we realized that he might have been killed and –“

The sheriff stops abruptly, remembering how he felt when Scott and Derek confirmed to him that the blood was Stiles’.

“You don’t want me to tell you if he suffered or not,” Derek spoke quietly when Stilinski asked if his son was dead or alive. “I can tell you that the blood didn’t come from a dead body, but I can’t tell you that he might be able to survive this either. He was very, very scared.”

Scott takes over quickly. “We knew we had to start looking in your area, so we called in for more help, which we found through volunteers, and you and your family. The rest, you know.”

“How did that girl die again?” Frederic asks troubled.

“She was stabbed,” Stilinski says, not missing the fact the man before him becomes pale. “Why?”

Frederic shakes his head. “It might be coincidence, but about six years ago, we had two murders in this area. Do you remember that? You were already sheriff then, or not?”

“They weren’t stabbings,” John Stilinski frowns, recalling the cases he refers to. “They were strangled to death. Two girls, about ten years old, from other towns. It took us a while to identify them. They were found buried in the woods. When we found them by chance, they were already decomposed. That was about six months after their deaths. How do you know about that?”

“I’ve been living here for years, sheriff,” Frederic shrugs, “you remember things like that. Their families came over to see where they were buried. And you never found the murderers, did you?”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Is there a connection, you think?” Derek asks troubled.

John Stilinski stares at his white board with his overview of the case. If there is a connection, if there is a reason why that girl was killed in that shack, his son will be the only one who can tell him more details.

“Let’s hope Stiles is able to shed some light,” Scott finally says, getting up. “Mom just called, he’s waking up again and asking for us. We have go to.”

Frederic takes his daughter’s hand and hugs her tight.

“Let’s go home.”

 

Lewis hasn’t slept a wink all night, concerned about his own future. If the teenager wakes up, he will recognize him as the killer who has shot him twice. If they ever cross paths again, Lewis’ life will be over forever.

Why in god’s name hadn’t he died in the quarry? How in the world could he have survived the shots and that fall?

The man lies restlessly in bed, trying to figure out what do to next. He wants to escape and flee Beacon Hill’s forever, heading abroad. Europe or Australia sound pretty interesting right about now. Anything to survive after all the years of good luck where nobody had even linked him to his previous murders.

But as the morning progresses, he breathes more at ease. So far, the kid hasn’t woken up yet and he heard he’s in pretty bad shape, in the ICU-ward, hooked onto machines. He has called the hospital with an anonymous number, telling the receptionist he’s a reporting inquiring about the sheriff’s son.

“Still touch and go,” he learned. “Kidney surgery, dialysis to monitor the progress, prognosis looking good but still hasn’t woken up due to head trauma.”

He lied down on his bed, dreaming about the girl he killed. She was the best sensation ever. Her life slipping through his fingers, the light in her eyes dying when she looked at him horrified, knowing she wouldn’t live after this night. What a rush.

It felt better every time, and he knew he could never stop himself. He wanted more, always more, as if something inside of him urged him to do it. He was never good at anything, except this. Killing the innocent. And yet he still felt insatiable.

Even with the sheriff’s department all over the area, Lewis knew he would have to find another victim soon. Even if it meant he had to get to Beacon Hills to do so, breaching the very first rule he had set up for himself a long time ago. His thirst for blood was growing, paralyzing him. He just had to kill.

But first, he would finish unfinished business. It was misfortunate that his path crossed with the teenager. That same thirst of blood had driven him out of Beacon Hills and into the night, stealing the girl when her parents weren’t looking, driving her back to the preserve while she was unconscious, until he reached the cabin he had used in the past. Nobody knew about this long-forgotten piece of crap that was built by Lewis’ father years ago. Even Frederic couldn’t remember it, as he had only been there a few times. Their dad had used it to store his hunting gear.

It had been perfect. He had driven the seemingly unconscious girl in his car back to the preserve, using the smaller roads, taken his time to head back. She lay covered underneath a brown horse blanket, so outsiders peeking in, wouldn’t notice her.

He slowed down on the narrower road, his thoughts all over the place. Suddenly, he heard movement behind him. The girl had fought herself free underneath the blanket, trying to get out of the car. He stopped, reaching for her, but she kicked him hard in the face. He had yelped, taken by surprise. The girl pushed the car door open and ran off, into the darkness of the woods she didn’t know, unaware of where she was headed.

He left his car on the road and ran after her, taking his gun. He followed her loud footsteps running through the woods, she was unable to hide her motions, so he could follow her trail easily. She took a long detour and ran unexpectedly towards another road that cut the preserve in two.

And then he heard her scream and talk to someone else. As he approached swiftly, he stared straight into the eyes of a teenager, dressed in a hoodie, just as shocked as he was. He looked about eighteen or nineteen years old, absolutely stunned by the situation he had gotten himself into unexpectedly. Lewis caught a glimpse of a blue jeep.

“What the hell’s going on?” the teenager blurted out, standing shocked for just one second when Lewis waved his gun and pointed it straight at him. The kid reacted quickly and took the girl by the hand, screaming at her to run.

Together, they took off while Lewis decided against firing just yet and followed them, as they ran deeper into the woods, unaware they were running straight towards their own downfall.

Lewis’ victims were forced by the man chasing them to wind up at the small cottage he had planned to kill the girl at. The kid grabbed her by the arm and took her inside, telling her to hide. The teenager gave her his sweater, because she was shivering so much.

Lewis took his time taking in this new situation. He was upset that the kid had interfered where he shouldn’t have. And then he had taken his gun, pushed the door open and fired immediately at the teenager, as the coward that he was. 

The girl hurled immediately towards the teenager who lay unconscious on the ground, bleeding from head and arm, screaming at him to wake up. His sweater slid off her shoulders and lay drenched with his blood on the ground next to him.

She screamed when Lewis picked her up and killed her.

Calmly he grabbed another blanket that his father used to use and wrapped the teenager in it, lifting him over his shoulder and carrying him down to the old quarry, where he dropped him unceremoniously, happy that he would die a slow, painful death.

Lewis knew he had let his pride take over his common sense. He should have killed the kid in the cottage, but he had enjoyed the thought of him being devoured by the cold or the wolves. It was punishment, he had thought, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Frederic knocked hard on his door, startling Lewis. The oldest of two brothers walked trembling to his door, opening it for his younger brother and Annie, his niece.

“Good news, Uncle Lewis,” the girl smiles. “Stiles is getting better! They said he’s finally waking up. Isn’t that great?”

“That’s fantastic, Annie,” Lewis smiles back weakly. “I’m so happy to hear that.”

“They’re hoping he’ll be able to identify the bastard that killed that innocent girl,” Frederic tells his brother. “It’ll be over soon.”

Lewis smiles. “I hope so.”

Frederic and Annie walk back to the main building, where they live. Over the square, Lewis watches them leave, shivering with pure fear and anxiety. He has to do something, he has to stop this from happening. But how? How can he stop that kid from waking up and telling the truth about that night? His description will lead straight to him, and he’s not willing to give up his freedom just like that.

And then it dawns to the man who has spent his entire life looking after horses and caring for them more than he does for human beings. He has the answer to his problem nearby. It’ll be easy, swift and untraceable. 

Lewis leaves his sanctuary and heads for the stables, where he rummages through the many herbs he uses for his animals. He shoves a parcel in his pocket, walks to his car and heads for Beacon Hills Memorial.  



	11. The syringe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments! On with the next chapter ...

**Chapter 11: The syringe**

   
For hours Scott stares intently at his sleeping friend, hoping to catch a glimpse of awakening from Stiles. Exhausted, the Alpha sinks deeper into his chair, unable to take his eyes off Stiles. Just like the others, he feels extremely guilty too, but he pushes that away, knowing it won’t help to fret over past doings. Stiles is getting better, that’s the most important thing right now.

Dr. Dunbar said, as soon as they entered the hospital, that Stiles had fallen asleep again, complaining about a major headache that made him confused, calling out for his dad and friends, upset that he was alone, and fretting and worrying so much, that they had to sedate him once again.

But at least they took him off the dialysis, as his wounded kidney showed every sign of healing and hadn’t suffered more.

“The prognosis is quite good,” Dunbar says, “but I have to tell him that he might be confused for a while every time he wakes up. He looks a bit off and that isn’t surprising, his head took quite a blow.”

Later that afternoon, with Stiles still asleep, they moved him into a semi-guarded private room, still hooking him up to monitors, but at least not as many as before. In the waiting area, they had come up with a schedule so at least one of them would stay with him, making sure he wouldn’t be alone again as soon as he woke up. Scott was supposed to stay alone first, but found that some of the others refused to leave, unable to leave Stiles alone. Finally, there were three of them left in the room, while the others took off.

For a long time, it seems as if nothing will wake up the teenager, but then his good arm starts to move, his good, left hand flailing on the bed. Startled, the werewolf moves, instantly alarming Lydia and Malia, who have been dozing off in the corner of the room.

“Stiles?”

The three of them can sense the teenager is still struggling to wake up, but finally he does, his pupils focusing on what he sees: Their faces. His mouth opens to speak, but he feels he can’t ever talk again. His mouth is dry, his voice wavers as he grunts slightly.

“It’s okay, Stiles,” Scott soothes him. “You’re going to be fine, you went through hell and back but you’ll be okay, I promise.”

His hand pushes the button, alerting Melissa and Dunbar, who come in immediately.

“How -?” Stiles starts to speak, finding it very hard after nearly two days.

“Don’t ask any questions now,” Dunbar says, soothing his patient as he examines him, satisfied with the outcome of his tests.

Melissa hands him ice chips, scooping them gently into his mouth. Stiles doesn’t protest, allows his tongue to soothingly take in the cold, before he smiles wearily, his tired eyes telling of the  exhaustion he still feels. Then he sleeps again, comforted by their presence.

“He’ll be just fine,” Dunbar smiles relieved, examining the wounds. “The fever’s gone, he has a regular heartbeat and his pulse is going up. I think the worst has come and gone, now it’s a matter of healing.”

“I’ll tell his father,” Melissa says, grabbing her phone.

“Thank you,” Scott speaks from the bottom of his heart, grateful that Liam’s stepfather never gave up. He knows the doctor still feels guilty over Stiles’ kidney.

Lydia grabs Malia’s hand and squeezes it tightly. Now they have the chance to do right what they did wrong before. Now, they longer have to feel guilty about the argument that sent Stiles off. The coyote smiles at her best friend, feeling exactly the same. If only they all learned out to talk, it would have saved them a lot of problems.

 

The first thing Stiles sees when he wakes up again hours later, as the evening falls once again, is his father, standing by his bed. The sheriff has his hand between his own, lifting it to his cheek, caressing his son as if he was terrified he would never see him again.

John is alone with Stiles when the teenager speaks briefly with him, the sheriff carefully prodding for information on what happened. Fifteen minutes later, the Sheriff returns to the others as he leaves his sleeping son behind, telling them quietly that Stiles is feeling better, but still too weak to remember anything. Every thought costs Stiles a lot of effort.

“Hopefully he’ll be able to tell us the whole story soon,” she sheriff sighs, rubbing his forehead. “But for now, he’s better than we could expect, I believe. The first thing he needs to do now, is rest and heal.”

“I’ll take Malia home,” Lydia says. “We’re all very tired and to be honest I could use some decent sleep.”

“Why don’t you go home too, John?” Melissa urges. “You’ve been up and about for far too long. I’ll keep an eye on Stiles.”

The sheriff finally gives in, happy that his son is doing okay. He leaves with the girls, nodding at Scott, who decides to stay at the hospital and get some sleep in Stiles’ room. Melissa quietly hands him a blanket and tells him that the biggest chair is the most comfortable one.

Silently, Scott slips back into the room and gets comfortable, shoving the main seat closer to the smaller chair, so he can rest his feet on it. He falls asleep underneath his mother’s blanket, his last thought with Stiles, still sound asleep in his bed.

Fearfully, Lewis enters the room where Stiles is resting. He has called the hospital half an hour ago, asking how he was doing, telling them he’s a relative who would like to visit in the morning. They told him the teenager was moved to a private room and doing better. They even gave him the room number, not suspecting for one moment Stiles would be in danger.

It was calm at the hospital this time of night. Visitors have long come and gone, except for those at the ER, waiting to be treated. He moves quietly through the corridors without anybody even noticing him. He has always been a plain man who never stood out, which gave him the necessary opportunities to snatch the innocent for the kill.

He has a soft, gentle demeanor over him and a forgettable, plain face. Even in Beacon Hills, hardly anyone knows him. Lewis was good at hiding in the shadows.

He waited patiently for a nurse to do her rounds, checking up on room 207 before closing the door gently. As she passes the corner, he moves inside.

All he needs to do is feed Stiles’ IV a syringe, filled with a solution he has used on his horses many times before. He uses this natural means to kill animals in a human way. If one of his horses falls and breaks a leg, he takes their lives himself, without the help of a vet. He loves his horses to death and will do anything to prevent them from suffering. Unlike most humans, they’re loyal.

He pulls on the surgical gloves he keeps at home, making sure he’ll leave no fingerprints. If all goes well, nobody will even have noticed he was there, but in case it goes wrong, he doesn’t want to leave any trace.

Lewis enters and closes the door, seeing the teenager asleep in the dark, his face turned to the window. Then he’s shocked at the sight of the other kid, sleeping stretched out on the largest seat next to the bed, snoring slightly.

For one long moment he curses, knowing he won’t be able to kill the teenager unseen now, not with a possible witness in the room. He hadn’t counted on that, hoping that they’d be allowing him to sleep alone at night.

Lewis approaches the chair and waits for one long moment, debating what to do. Then he notices the cart with medication next to the table. Gently he heads over and checks out what is on the cart, finding a small bottle and a couple of syringes next to it.

He fills one of them with the sedative in the bottle and tiptoes back to the teenager on the seat startled when his eyes open and he looks up dazed. Lewis has to act, or he’ll get caught. He won’t stand a chance in hell now to do this quietly.

As gently as possible, he pushes the needle in Scott’s neck, emptying the content into a vein before Scott even knows what hit him. The teenager struggles briefly against the grip holding him, but it’s an unfair fight. The sedative sends him straight into oblivion, without as much as a struggle or a single sound. Scott slumps back on the chair, unaware of what has just happened to him.

Lewis then directs his attention to Stiles, knowing he has to act fast. He can still do this unnoticed now, if he treads carefully. Another syringe, shoved inside Lewis’ jacket pocket has been prepared especially for him. Lewis approaches the bed and reaches for the IV. As he looks up, he suddenly finds Stiles staring at him, his eyes opening wide when he sees the unknown man, sensing straight away he’s not a nurse or a doctor.

He fights back.

The teenager strikes Lewis on the chin with his good, left hand, sending him twirling backwards. Lewis staggers and drops the syringe on the ground. Stiles moves up, trying to reach for the alarm, but is unable to get to the button when Lewis moves up again.

Frantically, Stiles slips out of the bed and falls weakly to the ground, gathering his senses as he grabs the side of the bed tightly, again trying to reach the alarm button, hooked on the cable above his bed. Lewis moves faster than he does, grabbing Stiles’ injured arm, pushing his hand deliberately onto the wounded area.

Crying out in pain, Stiles sinks to his knees, struggling to stay awake. He sees the syringe being picked up by Lewis and knows his time is running out. He strikes back with his injured arm, sending excruciating flairs of pain through his mind as he hits Lewis full on the side of his head. At the exact same time his attacker does the same, hitting Stiles with his fist, directly on the gunshot wound on his forehead.

His entire body aches, the stitches on his arm and side feeling as if they’re being ripped open with every move he makes. His head feels as if an elephant stomped on it, but he won’t be killed just like that. He needs to leave traces to the one who did this to him, even if he has no clue who he is. All Stiles knows, is that he doesn’t want to die.

Behind closed doors, nobody hears what’s going on inside Stiles’ hospital room. Lewis groans hard and lets go of the syringe, dropping it to the floor for the second time. Stiles’ kneels buckle as he fights against nauseating darkness. He fights hard to stay alert, croaking Scott’s name as he rips out the IV-cable, sending a trail of blood on the floor.

Stiles knows he will lose the battle against the stranger who invaded his room in the dark, but he won’t go down without a fight. Lewis pants as he lies on the ground, struggling to get up as Stiles’ bare foot strikes him hard against his leg. The killer groans and clutches his leg, pounding on the teenager's face in return.

Stiles tastes own blood. Lewis delivers another blow that strikes down hard once more. The teenager falls backwards, panting as he lies on the ground, watching Lewis get up again. Slowly, but surely, every survival instinct he possesses, comes together. He fights for survival.

Stiles knows he can’t possibly win this fight. He crawls back from the bed, the blood seeping from his arm leaving a trail on the floor as he tries to make his way to the door, searching for anything that can help him battle against the man who came in to kill him.

“Help,” he croaks, but his voice is so small he knows nobody will hear him.

Lewis crawls up, grabbing the syringe again and steps over Stiles, hovering over him with the syringe prepared. With one haul he plunges the needle into Stiles’ upper right arm, plunging it down while the teenager struggles with his good left hand to pull it back out. He manages to do so, breaking the needle as the syringe falls to the ground, but not before a quarter of the vial’s content is pushed into his system.

He releases him, watching him unmoving.

The killer watches Stiles struggle as the sedation begins to work. He rolls on his side, seemingly in agony. Lewis has never used his product on humans before and watches in awe as the teenager fights the darkness, his body in pain.

Lewis picks up the now useless syringe, shoves it in his pants’ pocket and rushes out of the room, taking off his gloves, calming himself down as he walks away after closing the door to Stiles’ hospital room, leaving the two teenagers behind. It’s done now, nobody can survive this.

The man walks away, his heart overly excited. This was perfect, thrilling and an absolutely kick. But one that comes with danger. They will know now that somebody was there, and they will try to hunt him down.


	12. The torment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you all so much for your many comments on this chapter! I wanted to write a action-packed chapter and am so glad you liked it. Thank you again!   
> remember, when you're down, things can only look up. (at some point :)).  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks again for the comments!

**Chapter 12: The torment**    


Stiles is in torment. His vision blurs as he sucks air into his lungs. Something’s very wrong with him, he can feel it seeping through his veins as a slow poison. Lying on the bed, he sensed something was off in his room, betraying the presence of an invader. He had smelled something on that man, the scent of horses and dogs, mingling into one another.

He had smelled it before, and then it had nearly cost him his life. When he opened his eyes in that bed, he stared into the face of a man he knew he had seen before. But he didn’t recognize him, his memories still hidden behind a barrier inside his mind, and his thoughts still trapped in another universe, hidden behind a brown blanket covered in blood.

And then there was that struggle, a fight to the death. A fight that he knew he would lose, and he did.

Lying on the ground, Stiles sees the man flee while his heart pounds rapidly in his chest. The world turns immediately into a pool of intense, terrifying pain, striking so hard it makes his body convulse as he enters a whirlwind of darkness and ache he can’t stop.

Then he sees Scot lying on the chair near his bed, his head slumped to the side, unmoving as he calls out his name. He fears that Scott has succumbed to the same terror, that he might already be died. Stiles tries to make the pain stop, to get to Scott and help him, but he can’t do anything himself.

He has to tell someone then, crawl out of here and find people to save them both. He has to find someone, Melissa, his dad, Derek, the girls – anyone who would figure out what is going on with them.

“No”, Stiles mutters in quiet protest, fighting against his fate, not even aware of the fact he had spoken out loud. He pulls himself up, leaning against the cabinet door, eyeing the door leading out of his room as a focus. He finally manages to get himself up on his knees, fighting against death.

His legs are too weak, he’s unable to walk, so he has to crawl to make his way to the door.

Everything aches so badly, he just wants to give in. Stiles straightens his back and focuses on the tiled ground, touching it with bare hands. The cold feels soothing against his burning skin. He blinks his eyelids and concentrates on Scott lying on the chair. That is his goal, to save Scott.

He focuses on that, pushing away all thought of pain and death, his mind going haywire at the thought of dying like this, without being able to help his best friend.

_Scott is injured, he has to remember that. Help Scott, and then help yourself._

He moves forward to the door again, crawling up until he leans panting against wall, sitting on his knees, fighting the urge to head towards darkness. He shakes his head, controls his thought. Even it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, he will save Scott.

It’s Stiles’ pure sheer of willpower that helps him to his feet again and reach for the door. It seems to take forever, but he makes it and pulls it open with his good left arm, leaning heavily into the wall, before pushing his body through it, falling forward in the hallway, straight into Melissa’s arms.

 

"Somebody help me! Call Dr. Dunbar and get a crash cart here _now_.”

Melissa’s strong voice disturbs the peaceful evening watch of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital’s second floor. She kneels worried down at the fallen teenager’s side, lying unmoving at her feet. Two male nurses hurry, turning Stiles gently on his side and lifting him onto his bed.

More help comes in, finding Scott unconscious on the comfortable chair, unresponsive but breathing.

“He’s asleep,” someone informs Melissa while she focuses on Stiles with a worried look towards her son.

“No, he’s sedated,” Melissa reacts immediately, knowing her son would never sleep through whatever’s been going on with Stiles. She berates herself for not having come here earlier. She had promised John she would look in on Stiles every half hour or so, but she thought he would be perfectly fine. After all, he was getting better and sleep seemed the only thing he needed right now.

Then what the hell happened to him that he would be in such a state? There’s something terribly wrong with all of this, but she can’t put her finger to it yet. Did he wake up in a state of fright? Did he think something was wrong with him, or with Scott? Did he have a nightmare, yanking out his IV in a moment of distress? She has no way of telling yet.

As her son stirs slightly, she forces herself to focus on Stiles. A third nurse enters the room with a crash cart. Melissa lowers the bedrest, pulls away Stiles’ pillow and moves him so he can be resuscitated.

“No heartbeat, unresponsive, dilated pupils.”

She pinches his nose and chin, opening his mouth, blowing air into it manually as they prepare the paddles. Then another nurse takes over, pushing air into Stiles’ lungs with a ventilator. Dr. Dunbar hurries in, staring shocked at the sight of Stiles lying lifeless on the bed.

“Why is his IV pulled out?” he asks, staring at the trail of blood. “What the hell is going on here? And what the hell is that smell?”

“It smells like horses,” Melissa says, staring at Stiles who hasn’t responded yet. The paddles are placed on his chest, preparing him.

“Epinephrine, 1 mg IV,” Dunbar orders. Immediately a nurse pushes the drug into Stiles’ system.

“Someone was in here,” a male nurse points at, examining the bottles on the cart by the table. “I’m pretty sure this bottle wasn’t lying down, as it is right now. And there’s a syringe missing, I counted them before I took the cart in.”

“What the hell?” another nurse says, reading the label on the bottle. “Looks like they might have been injected with some sort of sedative.”

The male nurse kneels down, carefully picking up the broken needle of a syringe, smelling it.

“That’s definitely not a sedative, and also not one of ours. The needle is too large for that. I can’t find the syringe this belonged to,” he frowns.”

“Whoever did this, must have taken it. What the hell is it?” Melissa cries out.

More noise down the hall follows, as John Stilinski enters the room, instantly spotting his lifeless son on the bed. The first thing that hits him, is the scent he recognizes from the quarry that held Stiles trapped.

Three times they try to jumpstart his heart, to no avail. John realizes with a shock that, at this very moment, his son is technically dead.

“Get that needle to the lab and have it examined immediately,” Dr. Dunbar says. “Tell them to hurry, this is a matter of life or death. I have no idea at this moment what Stiles got into his system. Give him another shot of epinephrine.”

“It’s too soon, doctor,” Melissa says.

“It’s our only chance, Melissa,” Dunbar says, placing the paddles on Stiles’ chest once more.

“Do it,” Stilinski says, “whatever it takes, doc. Please save my son.”

Melissa pulls Stilinski back, staying with him as Dunbar and his medical staff prepare hastily. Then she sees Stiles’ eyes open, the light in it broken. She has seen this once before, with a drowning victim being revived. It’s horrendous to watch, and John has seen it too.

Dr. Dunbar knows he’s taking risks, but he has no other choice and nothing more to lose. He pushes another mg of the medication into Stiles’ IV, knowing it might be his last resort.

Stiles is still – in all sense – dead. The sheriff knows he’s watching the death of his own son, but he can’t bear to look away. From the corner of his eye he sees that Scott is still lying on the chair, with two nurses by his side, becoming alert at long last, his eyes wide open when he realizes what is happening to Stiles.

They watch tensed for the medicine to kick in, Dunbar standing ready with a third syringe if needs be. Again, they put the paddles to Stiles’ chest.

At first, nothing happens, but then they see the change in Stiles’ system. Suddenly he’s back, his eyes opening and closing two times. He coughs and heaves as his body convulses in an effort to wake up. Everyone cries in relief when it happens, the sheriff moving to his son’s side to watch him fight against the dark once more.

Dr. Dunbar opens Stiles’ eyelids, seeing the still dilated pupils but noticing a change of color in Stiles’ features. He struggles against poisoning going on from within, almost unbearable. He’s in pain, the blood coursing through his veins feeling boiled.

“Stiles,” Dunbar says strongly, “try to relax, I can’t give you anything against the pain, I can’t sedate you again before we find out what was given to you. Don’t fight it, okay?”

Stiles sighs, shutting his eyes.

“No, Stiles. Open your eyes, you have to stay awake,” his father urges, keeping Stiles with them. He grabs his son’s hand, caressing the palm of his hand gently. “Yes, that’s it, Stiles. Don’t struggle, but stay with us.”

Slowly, Stiles’ body seems to adjust to the situation.

“Take him to the ICU, he needs to be monitored. We have to run blood tests to find out what he was given,” Dunbar orders. “We need to follow up every change.”

"Scott –?" the teenager coughs tired, remembering what happened.

Scott stirs and moves, battling a heavy headache that quickly resides as he moves up, grabbing Stiles’ hand.

“I’m here, bro,” he speaks hoarsely.

Stiles mutters something that can hardly be heard. He can’t move his body, feels paralyzed, as the nursing staff prepares to move him back to the ICU. Bloodwork is sent to the lab with the highest priority, his vital functions are constantly monitored.

Stiles breathes heavily, trying to get a grip on what had happened to him. The scent, he remembered the scent. And the burning sensation in his veins, when that guy pushed a needle into him. His entire body hurts like hell.

As they move him, Scott gets up, helped by his mother.

“I don’t remember anything, mom,” the werewolf speaks frantically. “I fell asleep, I know that, but I don’t know what happened after that.”

“You were drugged, honey,” Melissa reacts gently. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have stayed awake, I failed him, mom,” Scott speaks desperately.

“No, you didn’t,” she tells him firmly, grabbing him tight as they hurry after the gurney towards the ICU.

"What is it, Stiles?” his dad asks troubled as they roll the bed through the corridors.

"Pain..." Stiles manages to exclaim, "Chest." 

"Do you have pains in your chest?” Dr. Dunbar asks, “can you tell me where?" 

Stiles' hand moves slowly as he put his hand on his lungs, as if to say he can hardly breathe. Then his hand grasps his dad’s, pulling him closer.

“There was … there was someone here. He tried … tried to … kill us." 

The Sheriff stares from Stiles' distressed face to Dunbar.

“S – Syringe,” Stiles croaks. “Brought it …”

“We have to find out immediately what that man gave him,” Dunbar frowns.

John Stilinski grits his teeth as they enter the ICU-ward.

“And we have to guard Stiles at all times, whoever came in to do this, must have wanted him dead really badly to come in here and do this,” Dunbar continues. “He must have been very desperate.”

 “Nobody will ever lay a finger on my son again,” John Stilinski says. “Nobody.”

An oxygen mask is placed over Stiles’ nose and throat, more monitors are connected, new medication flows into his system, trying to counteract the damage done to him. John feels tears of anger push towards the surface as he watches how his son has difficulty breathing. He’s tired, exhausted and terrified.

“I’ll take care of you,” Stilinski vows, “nobody will ever come near you again, I swear. I’ll get the bastard that did this.”

"I know … I know you will, dad," Stiles whispers.

Both men look up when Scott enters the room and stands by his friend’s side.

“I swear to god I won’t sleep again until we catch the bastard that did this,” he grunts.

Despite it all, Stiles smiles at that very moment, knowing his best friend will be alright. And that he will be too.


	13. The stables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep on repeating myself, I know, but I'm so in awe with the many comments and the reactions to this story. thank you so much!!

**Chapter 13: The stables**

Lewis knows he has to run while he still can. His heart races in his throat, he feels agitated and angry for making such stupid errors, risking all he ever built up to kill the kid who interfered when he should have been minding his own damned business.

But he won’t, he can’t, he can’t leave his life behind just like that. It will seem as a plead of guilt if he did anyhow. And the kid is dead, there’s no other way. He can’t survive this.

He walks into the stables and caresses his favorite horses, taking his time to padding them down one by one. He feels at ease with his animals, much more so than with any human. Humans wouldn’t understand his urges to kill, nobody could possible realize he needed this to survive, how his urge to kill kept him sane.

He knew he couldn’t stop this building urge much longer, he wouldn’t be able to ignore it much longer. And why should he ignore it? Now that he has rid himself of the teenager, he has free access to anyone and everything. With a bit of luck nobody would even know he had poisoned the kid. They would blame his death on confusion and his grave injuries and not think any further.

Deep down though, he knew that was nonsense.

Lewis needs to kill again, he can’t ignore it anymore. He wants to kill with his bare hands. He needs to feel that rush again.

_Don’t do it._

_Do it!!_

_No, you can stop this._

_I can’t!!_

Lewis turns when he sees Annie walk in, smiling at him. He looks down at that little girl and smiles at her, until he freezes. He thinks of having her in his arms, of feeling the life seep out of her. Oh god, this is who he really wants to kill, the girl who is in his mind at all times.

She has pushed herself in his thoughts a long time ago, and now she can’t get out. He cherished her distress when she stood near the quarry, caring for a total stranger she didn’t know anything about. Those eyes of hers, filled with pain and anger when they found the kid’s body.

At that moment, she was perfect, his perfect little victim. These thoughts of his are so guilt-ridden, so exquisite. So dark. And he can’t get rid himself of them. He doesn’t want to.

He wants to kill her. He knows he won’t get any rest if he doesn’t.

 

Two deputies now stand before Stiles’ room, watching and monitoring anyone who walks in or out. Inside, several people remained by his side, never losing sight of him again.

Time passed slowly as peace returned at Beacon Hills Memorial, as if nothing had upset them all last night. Now that morning broke, doctors walked in and out, checking Stiles’ condition constantly. His condition improved rapidly once they learned the contents of the syringe.

“I have never heard of such a substance before in my life,” Dunbar explains Sheriff Stilinski, “it looks like it was something self-made, but there are traces of powerful sedatives found in Stiles’ bloodstream and the needle. We managed to extract some, that we used to test on. We’ve been giving Stiles amphetamines that basically counteracts the effects of the product that was supposed to kill him. It seems to work.”

“You could say that,” John smiled as he cast a gaze at his son, sitting upright for the first time in his bed, talking to Scott, Lydia, Derek and Malia as they fed him a light breakfast. Stiles ate and drank for the first time in days, feeling better with every bite he took.

“I don’t know what miracle you performed out there, Doc, but you saved my son’s life and I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Dunbar smiles, shaking hands with the sheriff.

“I have this feeling Stiles did a lot of it all by himself. You have a very strong son, Sheriff, you can be proud of him.”

“I am,” Stilinski says, walking into the room to find Stiles looking up relieved and happy to see him again. They have spoken briefly earlier, but that was when Stiles was still out there, his mind all over the place.

John knows his son well enough to know he’s alert and sound of mind, which will probably result into him talking and forgetting to sleep, which would be typical for him.

Stilinski smiles when he finds out he’s right. Stiles talks to Scott with strained voice, asking him over and over again if he’s doing okay. More worried about his friend than himself, he tries to figure out who the stranger in the dark was, whose face he can’t remember. And he’s afraid that the sedative given to Scott might have a lasting effect, even though Scott seems perfectly fine and tells him to stop fretting over him.

 “I’m okay, Stiles,” the wolf keeps on repeating. “It’s you we’re worried about.”

Finally, Stiles can’t take it no more. Injuries or not, sedation or not, he wants to get out of this damned bed and move on. He’s too alert for a patient in his condition. The pack and Stilinski were warned that the amphetamines and counteracting drugs they pushed into his system, had side effects that caused severe agitation, which, in Stiles’ case, would double because of his ADHD.

He shoves his sheets aside and slides out of bed before anyone can stop him, causing a stir of commotion amongst the group. Scott instantly calls for his mother and Dr. Dunbar, while the others, including his father, try to calm him down.

Finally, the sheriff is able to persuade Stiles to sit down on the bed again. Agitated, he looks into his father’s eyes, shaking his head determinedly.

“I’m okay, dad, seriously. And I won’t stay here while that guy is still out there. I’m the only one who saw him, okay? I can help.”

"You can help us here if you explain what happened to you. You’re not doing yourself any favors by walking around injured and still very ill, Stiles," his father speaks gently. “Dr. Dunbar says you’ll need plenty of time to heal. You had two surgeries and someone tried to kill you by lethal injection. Do you really think you’ll just walk out of here after that?”

“Dad, I’m fine!!” Stiles’ usual calm voice shouts through the room, startling his friends.

Derek moves forward, grabbing him by the arm.

“If you’re okay, why are you shouting at your dad? This isn’t you talking, Stiles, it’s the result of everything that happened to you.”

“And the drugs I had to administer to save your life,” Dr. Dunbar interferes, entering the room. He instantly sees his patient’s state of mind, knowing that what he feared, is coming true.

“You’ve been put through the wringer,” Melissa says gently. “You can’t expect not to feel anything. You have to take of yourself right now, Stiles.”

“I’m fine, okay? And I don’t care about me, just let me get out of here, dad, and help catch that guy,” Stiles reacts, a bit calmer.

“Don’t overestimate your strength, Stiles,” Dunbar says, persuading his patient to lie back down. “You’ll be okay after a couple of days intense rest, but not if I let you go just like that. You’re strong, you’ve already proven that. But your head, your kidney and your arm still need time to heal. You don’t want lose the strength of your arm permanently, do you?”

“No,” Stiles gives in. When he looks up sadly, he sees Scott, who places his hand on his good shoulder.

“Stiles, I know you care more about me than yourself, but I won’t allow you to get out of here just to punish whatever that guy did to me too. I wasn’t the one he came after, that was you. You have to rest up and we’ll stay here with you, but you can’t just pack up and leave.”

“I promise you we’ll evaluate your situation day by day,” Dr. Dunbar says, “and when you’re up for it and I’m satisfied with your progress, I’ll let you go, okay?”

"Not yet," Stiles said, grasping his friend's wrist with his good hand. "Tell me what happened the night I disappeared.”

John Stilinski stares at his son. “You mean you don’t remember?”

"No … I have tried to get it back, but –" Stiles frowns, staring helplessly at his friends. “I’m useless, aren’t I?”

Derek moves in again, making sure Stiles sees him. His voice is calm as he speaks.

“Close your eyes, Stiles.”

The teenager does as he says.

“Don’t strain yourself, speak slowly and let your mind drift off. What do you remember?”

“Nothing much. My jeep broke down. I remember getting out, knowing I had to walk back. Then I heard a sound, a scream. There was a strange smell.” Stiles shakes his head. "That is all." 

"There is nothing else?" Dr. Dunbar asks troubled.

Stiles shakes his heads.

“No, I don’t remember the rest of it, I’ve lost a day of my life and don’t even remember what happened. It’s strange, isn’t it?”

Scott shares a concerned look with The Sheriff. 

“What? What is it?” Stiles asks. “What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t lose a day, Stiles,” his father says, “What happened to you, wasn’t yesterday, it was nearly three days ago.”

"Three?" Stiles stares in shock at his friends. "That can’t be right.” 

"We’ve searched for you for one, and you’ve been here ever since.”

"I can’t remember any of it,” Stiles says troubled, “Dad, why can’t I remember anything?”

“Relax, Stiles,” Derek says, placing his warm hand on Stiles’ wrist, quieting him down immediately. “What you’re feeling right now, is totally normal. You had quite a blow to the head and you went through a lot of stress, so don’t think it’s abnormal not to remember.”

Stiles looks at his dad. “But I want to remember, I need to know who it is, Dad.”

“You will, son,” his father replies, “I trust in you, but don’t restrain yourself.”

“Close your eyes again, Stiles,” Derek says calmly. “Try to take your mind elsewhere, let it drift away, like clouds. What else do you remember?”

Stiles scrapes his throat, thinking of all he can remember.

“I can’t see his face.”

“Is there anything else that you remember? A smell, a taste, something that triggers your mind?”

“A smell!” Stiles looks up. “There was an odd smell in the room. I remember it, I’ve smelled it before.”

“What kind of smell?”

“Something poignant, like a room full of cats. Only, these aren’t cats, they’re –“

“Horses?” Scott asks quietly.

Stiles nods. “Definitely horses.”

“You smelled it before,” Lydia remarks, “didn’t you?”

“I think I have, but I can’t remember where,” Stiles sighs. “I can’t grasp it, it’s too far.”

Frantically, he stares at his father and friends. “He came in here, didn’t he? He tried to kill me. Why would he do that? I don’t even remember who he is!”

“That’s not what he thinks, apparently,” Stilinski frowns.

“But he’ll try again, won’t he?” Stiles shoots up, causing himself pain as he does so. “He won’t stop until I’m dead.”

“We won’t leave you alone until we catch his guy, okay?” John Stilinski reassures his son. “He won’t get a second chance. I’ll put two guards with you if I have to, day and night, but I swear he won’t touch a hair on your head again.”

“The only thing to stop this, is to get my memory back. I need to know who did this, dad and why. You have to trigger my mind somehow. What happened that he tried to kill me like this? That he sedated Scott like that? Why? What do I know that he doesn’t like?”

Dr. Dunbar, watching the discussion, sooths his agitated patient, shooting warning glances, which Stiles immediately catches onto.

“You’ll have to be very patient, Stiles. I’m afraid there’s nothing that can force your mind to remember. We can only wait until something comes back, but it might never return.”

 Stiles touches the side of his head, feeling the wound underneath his fingertips.

"There is more," he finally says, staring at his friends, who are looking back nervously, knowing they can’t keep the truth from him much longer. "Something you have not told me." 

"What do you mean?" Scott asks innocently.

“Don’t give me that, Scott. You were always a poor liar. What really happened the night I disappeared?”

The Sheriff sighs, he had wanted to wait some more before laying out the truth, but he knows he can’t fool Stiles. He never could, not when Claudia became so ill and not when he secretly munches on fast-food, trying to hide the wrappings in his car, but unable to conceal the smell of greasy burgers and sticky fingers.

"There was a girl murdered, only a few miles from here in a cottage in the middle of the preserve. You were there too, we found your sweater and your blood,” John admits.

"A girl, murdered?" Stiles' eyes fill with despair as he tries to remember but can’t. "Why was I there?"

"We don’t know. Your jeep had a problem and your phone’s battery was empty, so we concluded you headed out on foot, but instead of using the main road, you went through the preserve, taking the smaller, hidden roads. Perhaps you saw something that caught your attention, you might have followed him, and you might have seen what he had planned to do."

Stiles lifts his good hand, stopping his dad.

“I remember the jeep,” he says. “I remember it breaking down and getting out, trying to call Scott, but my phone was dead and I was upset because I had forgotten to charge it after –“

He stops and stares at Malia and Lydia, who watch quietly, knowing what he’s going to say.

“We had an argument, didn’t we?”

“We didn’t,” Lydia sighs, “but Malia and I did.”

She looks aside at the dark-haired coyote, who closes her eyes briefly and nods, admitting that they had.

“It was a stupid fight,” Malia says. “Remember how we told you that we would take turns going out with you and try to figure out what you wanted?”

Stiles nods.

“There was a mix-up with the schedule and you two started arguing and I got fed up with all of this and took off.”

“We believe you were planning to leave town for a few days,” John Stilinski says. “But you hadn’t told me and that’s why we didn’t realize you were gone until much later.”

The Sheriff doesn’t want to put any guilt on his son, but he does so anyhow, as Stiles figures out he had taken an emotional decision to leave without thinking it through.

“Oh god, I screwed up, didn’t I?” he sighs.

“No, you didn’t,” Stilinski reacts immediately. “This isn’t your fault, Stiles. You’re the victim here, not the doer.”

Stiles shakes his head and tries to get out of bed, his body shaking as he buries his eyes before his good hand. If only he could remember what is missing from his brain. He feels as if he can touch it with his fingertips and hold onto it. It’s so close to him, so very near.

All he needs is that little extra push.

He looks up at Dr. Dunbar. “Can you help me get my memory back? I don’t care what it takes. I have this feeling it’s urgent, very, very urgent.”

“I have that feeling too,” Lydia says softly.


	14. A friend in need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, this will be the last chapter for next two weeks, as I'm leaving on holiday as of tomorrow! I had hoped to finish this story before my vacation, but alas, real life and all :) But, as this chapter is a huge turning point in the story, it actually feels appropriate to have the break here and then start "part 2" afterwards.  
> Anyhow, I promise to update this story again in 2 weeks and will try to do so every two days, as I've done now.  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter, and see you then!

**Chapter 14: A friend in need**

Agitated, Stiles moves from his bed, sliding out of it with ease, until his body protests.

“Stiles.” Scott steps forward, grasping his friend’s arm tight as he staggers. “Stay calm, you can’t just walk out of here after all you’ve been through.”

“I have to, Scott,” he reacts agitated. “It’s killing me not to know what happened. I have to find out the truth. You heard Lydia –“

"Distressing yourself won’t bring back any memories,” Derek, the oldest and calmest wolf, reacts. “You have to get some rest. Your mind has to calm down before you are able to remember. You’re too hyper, right now, even for your doing.”

He smiles as he says this, but in his eyes, Derek’s distress is shown. He’s worried that Stiles won’t recover quickly as long as he’s so hyperactive.

“Doc, can you give him something to calm down?” The older wolf turns to Dunbar, who frowns just as worried over his patient’s condition.

“No, no more medication,” Stiles reacts firmly. “That’s exactly the problem, all these drugs have taken away my ability to think properly. Stop making me sleep, okay? I have to gather my thoughts.”

“Stiles, they’re right,” Melissa pitches in, nodding at Dr. Dunbar who walks out of the room. “You can’t possibly recover like this.”

“I can’t rest, not with this burden on me, Melissa,” he reacts.

“We’ll find another way to find him, son,” the sheriff reacts. “This isn’t your burden to carry."

“You don’t understand, dad,” he reacts. "If I were there, I couldn’t t save her. Then I’m responsible for her death. I should have stopped him.”

“The fact that you were there, might also proof that you placed yourself in jeopardy to help her. Have you ever thought about that?” Lydia asks, rubbing Stiles’ arm.

“Why don’t you lie down and rest?” Melissa says, gently forcing the teenager to lie down. “I’ll get something really mild that will ease your mind, okay?”

“Don’t let him drug me again,” Stiles pleads.

“I won’t,” she reacts, “I promise. But you have to calm down.”

Stiles doesn’t really want to listen but his body decides for him as he leans heavily into Scott, still holding him tight.

“I’m a bit tired,” he admits quietly.

“Is that my son talking?” John smiles worried. “Just relax, Stiles.”

Dunbar enters the room again, bringing a syringe, but Melissa stops him and speaks quietly with him. Hesitantly, he finally agrees and allows her to take the lead. She fills another syringe and pushes the fluids into Stiles’ IV.

“I promise you this isn’t a heavy sedative, but it’s a mild one, that we use on people before they’re going into surgery. It calms them down,” she says. “It makes your mind drift off, so you can relax and not be afraid.”

Stiles feels himself calm down and allows her to pull the sheets over his shivering form.

“Close your eyes for a moment, Stiles,” Melissa’s gentle voice speaks.

He grabs his father’s hand as he does, listening to her voice. The moment she places a blanket on top of him too and his hand touches it, he freezes, instantly opening his eyes with a shock again.

“Oh god, I was in a blanket, wasn’t I? I remember the fabric, it felt so suffocating. I was trapped in it, couldn’t breathe.”

“You can now, Stiles,” his father immediately reacts. “You’re safe now, with us.”

"It was dark. Cold." Stiles closes his eyes, his voice drifting off as he sinks away into a semi-sleep. “The girl cried, she threw herself into my arms and I tried to help her. But we didn’t know where to go.”

Stilinski hovers over his son, listening to him, trying to prod him gently.

“Did you see him?”

Stiles’ eyes flung open again as he stares confused at his right hand. “He shot me, just like that. Why did he do that, dad? What did I do to him?”

“Perhaps you were just in the way,” Lydia says quietly, her hand touching Stiles’.

The group wait intently for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Soon, all they hear is the steady breathing that escapes Stiles’ body. They look at him, knowing the light medication was enough to send him into sleep again. But he needs it, more than anything.

“Rest, son.” The sheriff places his hand on Stiles' cheek, kissing his forehead then. “We won’t leave you alone again.”

“I’ll stay here,” Derek says, in this way ordering the sheriff, Scott and the rest of the pack to go and get some rest.

“I’ll stay too,” Lydia says determinedly, sinking down into a chair, staring past the two deputies in the room at Stiles. She wants to figure out what she’s feeling, why she senses someone is going to die soon and their time is running out.

The sheriff walks out the room, followed by Scott, Malia and Kira who refuses to even close the door so that they can keep an eye out for theirs friend. They’re too scared after what happened, believing any mistake might be the end of Stiles.

Scott paces the hallway, angrily trying to recap the moment he woke up confused and realized his best friend had died momentarily.

“I don’t know if Stiles’ memory will ever come back, but I think he’s his own worst enemy right now. The distress of what has happened out there, is a heavy burden. For people like Stiles, already agitated and completely out of order when something goes wrong, this is absolutely hell.”

“Can we help him to recover quicker, Doctor?” Scott asks Dunbar. “There must be some way to trigger his memory.”

“Not with the amount of medication he’s been fed,” Dunbar reacts, “and then I’m not even talking about the possible mess that bullet might have caused his brain. I don’t need to stress that Stiles has been very lucky already having survived this,. It’s a miracle he’s still here. If you want to force his mind, I can’t support that. He’s already been through too much.”

"Then what do we do?” Scott asks frantically. “He’s feeling so off, he’s never been like this.”

“It’s the medication that makes him so agitated, I explained that to you. As soon as they’re out of his system, he’ll feel much better and slowly return to normal. You have to give it time though, I’m afraid. Right now, all he needs is rest and recovery.”

“We have to focus on that man trying to get in and kill him,” Sheriff Stilinski says. “Why would he be so foolish to come in here and try to kill my son like that? He must have known that Stiles was getting better, but how could he possibly know if he doesn’t live nearby?”

“He might have caught some info on Stiles, learned that he was feeling better and then wanted to stop him before he could speak,” Malia says. “He must have wanted to cover his tracks. If he knows that Stiles has survived this too, he might come back. Animals like that won’t stop.”

“Survival instinct,” Scott says. “As if he wants to protect himself against all odds, no matter what.”

“How are we going to protect him?” Malia says, “what if he is allowed to go home? Are we going to guard him 24/7?”

“I’ll send him home with ten guards if I have to,” Stilinski reacts. “No matter what it takes, Malia.”

“You do know that he’ll never agree to sit back and watch while you do all the work,” Kira points out. “He’ll sneak out of the house at the first opportunity and go out investigate on his own.”

Scott laughs. “She’s right.”

“I’m afraid so too,” Stilinski smiles, despite everything. “But I’m still his father and I’ll make sure he won’t be able to play the stubborn mule he usually is. Even if I have to tie him to his bed.”

Dunbar laughs and pats the sheriff’s arm. “Good luck with that. I’ll come back later to check up on him. Talk to you later, sheriff.”

“Thanks, doc.”

“Now then,” Stilinski says, turning to Scott, Malia and Kira. “Let’s find this asshole. Our lead is that smell, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Scott says. “I’ll head down to the quarry and start from there. I could use Derek’s help though. He’s the strongest of us all and has the best scenting abilities, but I won’t leave Stiles alone again, not even with two deputies in his room.”

“You have to go,” Malia says determinedly. “I’ll stay with Stiles and Lydia. If anyone enters that room and so much as gazes at him, I’ll slit his throat.”

Stilinski laughs again, looking at the girl who once said she likes to eat deer.

“I actually believe you’d do just that, Malia. Stiles will be safe with you.”

The group splits up. Derek leaves with Kira and Scott as they head out to the quarry, picking up Liam on the way over. Malia and Lydia stay in Stiles’ room, with the two deputies now moving outside and taking their seats before the door. Sheriff Stilinski heads out to the sheriff’s station, to go with Parrish over the evidence. They have a murder to solve and a killer to catch.

As the two teenage girls sit down, each at one side of Stiles, still asleep, they gaze at each other, each battling with their feelings of guilt.

“If he comes out of this –“ Malia begins.

“When he comes out of this –“ Lydia corrects her.

“When,” Malia smiles, “I have decided to pull out of our relationship discussions.”

“What?” Lydia looks up shocked, “what do you mean?”

“I caused this, Lydia. I’ve known for so long that he’s been crazy about you since forever, and after the poisoning and all that happened then, I knew his heart belonged to you. But I didn’t want to give up, because I thought that I had to hold onto that which I felt was mine. In reality though, I never was his to begin with. We met in strange circumstances and our relationship somehow continued like that. And I know he loves me, but he loves you more. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you. You’re the one, Lydia. I’m the odd one, the forest child who still doesn’t get how to deal with normal people. He’s been with me out of pity, I know that and –“

“Malia, don’t do this,” Lydia stops her, grabbing her best friend’s hand tight over the bed. “Please, don’t. You are such a lovely, beautiful person and I love you to death. Please don’t put yourself down like this, you don’t deserve it. You are the strongest one of us all. You came out of the freaking woods, and yet you are here, so gorgeous, so smart and so witty, it awes me. You deserve to be with him too. He loves you too.”

“But not like you,” Malia says quietly. “You don’t have to deny that, Lydia. And I know you’re mad about him, even if you do tend to flirt with others, even now, after all you’ve been through. Please don’t tell me that it’s a lie, because I see how you act around him. Stop lying to yourself.”

Lydia swallows away the lump down her throat. “I –“

“Tell me you love him, Lydia. Please,” Malia urges.

The banshee closes her eyes and then opens them again, gazing away from Malia towards the door.

“I do live him,” she says quietly. “I don’t even know when it started, but I do – I do love him. I just feel so guilty about it.”

Malia smiles, squeezing Lydia’s hand as she stands.

“Look at me, Lydia.”

The banshee looks at her best friend, and then, to her shock, straight into Stiles’ eyes. He is staring at her as Malia gently places Lydia’s hand into his, smiling at the two of them before she stands and leaves the room.

“I love you too, Lydia,” Stiles whispers.


	15. The memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here I am again after a brief but intense holiday week!   
> Hopefully everyone is enjoying a good summer!   
> In the next weeks I'll be posting more chapters rather rapidly.  
> Thanks for reading! Hopefully you'll enjoy, comments are welcome!

**Chapter 15: The memories**

Stiles, who has been on the brink of death only a day ago, sits upright in his bed, his right hand and arm bound to his chest, immobilized by the doctors to stop him from straining it. Whenever he tries to move it, it hurts. He was told this morning he would regain full use of his arm, even though he would need a lot of physical therapy to do so.

Scott is sitting in a chair next to him, watching him intently. Still they refuse to leave him alone in that room, too shocked about what had happened earlier. The others went home to rest, having worked out a plan to guard their friend.

To everyone’s relief, the teenager is almost back to his normal self, quipping with whomever comes in, but they know all too well he’s putting up a brave face while struggling with the lack of memories of that night.

Even when he talks to them, he feels absent-minded, his thoughts constantly somewhere else, trying to remember the events. Nobody truly knows how much astray his thoughts are, because he doesn’t admit to frantically searching for a way for his memories to return.

His mind isn’t of much use, even though some small parts return and make no sense.

He remembers a child, not much older than eleven, staring at him in distress. He’s in the room with her, yet she stands too far away from him, so he’s unable to reach her.

He also remembers a faceless man, someone shooting twice at him, rendering him helpless. The man drags him by the legs and rolls him into a blanket that reeks of horses and feels suffocating.  

He remembers trying to escape the blanket, and then he rolls into the deep and onto something hard and the world became a still place after that. It’s mostly the scent that stays with him. The scent inside this very room, that still lingers after the attack.

And outside, onto the blanket in which he lay for so long. 

“Don’t strain yourself,” Dr. Dunbar said this morning. “It’ll come back to you, I’m sure. You’re already starting to remember things."

“It’s not enough and not fast enough either,” Stiles retorted angrily. “Why can’t I get some sort of medication that can help me?”

“You’ve already had way too much, your body needs natural healing now. We can’t force it.”

Alone with Scott, Stiles finally gathers the courage to ask his friend what he had wanted to ask since a day before.

“You can bring back my memories.”

“What? No!” Scott retorts immediately. “I won’t, Stiles, you know what the consequences are if that doesn’t work. Your brain needs natural healing, not the claws and mind of a werewolf prodding it.”

Disappointed Stiles leaves his bed and stands by the windows, overlooking the parking lot.

“Then tell me all you know,” Stiles says without looking at Scott.  "Tell me every detail of what you know and have seen. Maybe it’ll trigger something." 

Stiles keeps his arm still against his chest, sensing prickles of pain that rush through his fingers. The doctors call that a good sign, as it means nerves are repairing.

Scott stands next to his best friend.

"It is a clear, hot day out, Stiles, just like it was that day. Tonight it’ll be still warm out, and there’s no wind. It was like this that evening, after the sun settled and the warmth remained. Do you remember that?”

Stiles nods. "I remember how warm it was, no matter what you did.”

“Good. Now go back to what happened at the school,” Scott’s voice speaks gently.

Stiles closes his eyes.

“There was an argument. You were very upset and drove home. What happened then?”

“I was confused and needed time to think,” Stiles mutters, envisioning himself gathering his belongings. “It was stupid, I know, but I needed to get away, so I packed up some stuff to head out of town. I was planning on finding some motel for the night and call my dad on the way out, but forgot to charge my phone. It was dead before I even reached the preserve. As was my jeep.”

Stiles looks up. “My jeep! Did you find it?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about that. It’s okay, we towed it back to the garage. Your dad is telling them to fix it properly this time so you don’t get stuck like that again.”

Stiles smiles. “I always do, don’t I?”

“What happened after your jeep broke down?”

“I started walking.”

“But not to the main road.”

“I was too far off it, used the smaller roads, because I thought I had less chance of bumping into my dad by accident.”

“Close your eyes again.”

Stiles does, listening to his friend’s soft voice.

“What happened next?”

“I don’t know. I keep on hearing this child crying and running through the woods. After that, nothing.” Stiles opens his eyes. “How in the world did you find me anyhow?”

“Annie,” Scott smiles, both teenagers looking up after the knock on the door. “And speak of the devil, look who’s coming to see you?”

Stiles turns and stares at the girl entering the room, carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. A shock runs through him when he sees the color of her hair and eyes. Flashes of a girl lying on the floor inside a shabby shack rush through his head.

“Oh god,” he whispers. “You look just like her.”

Distressed he sits down on the bed, remembering how the faceless man reached for the girl after he had been shot. He had tried to stop him, but his body had been in shock.

Behind the girl, Lydia walks in, staring from Stiles to a very pale young girl, the flowers sliding from her arms. Stiles bursts into tears as Scott pulls him closer to him, holding him tight.

“I couldn’t save her,” he sobs. “Scott, she died because of me!”

“No, she didn’t,” Lydia reacts firmly, holding Annie against her. “You nearly died to save _her_.”

For Stiles, it doesn't feel that way. In his mind, he messed up.


	16. Stubborn Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for your nice comments and kudos!   
> On with the next chapter ...

**Chapter 16: Stubborn Stiles**

A surge of excitement rushes through Annie's thoughts that morning. Something’s about to happen today, forcing her to wake up from the lulling dream state she has been in ever since she became ill. The girl hasn’t felt this alive in ages and somehow she knew it had to do with what happened after she found the teenager at the quarry.

Happily she slips out of bed, excitement that the new day has begun. Then she stops and stands still at the situation. She feels ashamed immediately, sensing her excitement is uncalled for. She can never forget that Stiles is still very ill and lying in the hospital.

But, as she walks downstairs, she hears her dad call the sheriff to find out how he’s doing.

“I’m glad to hear he’s improving so rapidly,” he says over the phone. “Fantastic news.”

Relieved, Annie stands near her father and smiles when he hangs up.

“He’s going to be just fine,” he says, “you can stop worrying now, honey.”

The rest of the morning she pleads with her parents to take her to the hospital to go see the teenager she helped save, to find out for herself how he’s doing, but her parents are too busy worrying over Stiles too much.

Over lunch though, she overhears her parents talking about the sheriff planning a meeting at the hospital to discuss the next steps, and they’ve been invited to come too, as they know the area very well and played a big part in finding Stiles.

Annie wants to be part of it, overhear how they’re going to handle finding the guy that did this to Stiles, but she knows they’ll never allow it.

“You’re too young to be worrying over something like this, Annie,” her mother says, and she knows the woman is right, but she still feels upset for being left out just when the real hunt begins.

“Then can I go see Stiles while you are planning your scheme to catch the killer?” she asks ruefully and her mother finally smiles.

“What is it with you and that kid, Annie?” she asks gently.

“I don’t know,” Annie admits, “but I just want to see if he’s doing okay.”

“She saved his life, so she’s feeling some kind of bond,” her dad says, and Annie believes that to be true. She does feel as if she needs to protect Stiles, even though he’s much older than she us. She wants to find out what he’s been through, to see if she can help him get his memory back, because that, apparently, still isn’t okay.

Her parents finally cave in and allow her to join them as they prepare to leave for the hospital. Excitedly, Annie gazes outside to watch the world go by. She’s ready to face the world again after a long period of illness and Stiles is going to help her somehow to get over her bouts of depression as a result of that sickness.

She’s feeling alive again, something her parents sense too. They’re overjoyed to see their daughter finally recovering from her illness, even in these strange circumstances.

Sheriff Stilinski isn’t surprised when he sees her join them at the hospital, neither are the others for that reason. Lydia smiles at her, hugging her tightly, smiling at the huge bunch of flowers she bought with her pocket money at the hospital shop.

“Stiles doesn’t know yet that you saved him, but it’s time to get to know each other, don’t you think?” the strawberry blonde smiles. “Do you want to see him?”

“Yes, please,” Annie says, following Lydia into Stiles’ hospital room, finding the teenager standing by the window with his best friend Scott.

She had expected a lot, but not the way the saved teenager stared at her, so in shock that she felt uncomfortable. When he remarked she looked just like her, he knew he was referring to the dead girl. Out of fright, she dropped the flowers, watching how Stiles clung onto Scott.

Gently, Lydia leads the girl out of the room, delivering her in the arms of her parents again, but Annie soon recuperates and wipes the tears of shock from her eyes. Scott comes of the hospital room and heads for her, kneeling down by her side.

“Are you okay, Annie?” he asks gently.

She nods.

“Stiles is really sorry he upset you and hopes you’ll come back to see him. He was shocked but he’s fine now and very embarrassed.”

“He shouldn’t be,” Annie smiles, “I’m okay.”

Scott extends his hand and takes her back into the room, where she finds Stiles sitting on the bed, instantly smiling at her weakly, even though she still sees fright and distress in his eyes. He’s calmer now though, less shocked by her sight.

Something triggers inside of her. She knows that she might be the key to his memories, as the color of her hair apparently released some sort of memory in his mind.

“You’re Annie,” he says, “I’m really sorry. I remembered something –“

“The girl. You remembered her,” Annie replies.

“Yeah, I did,” Stiles replies. “But you’re not her, or you would be a ghost.”

Annie laughs. “And I’m not, am I?”

Stiles grabs her hand and squeezes it tight. “No, you’re not. Thank you for saving me, Annie.”

The girl sits on the bed, looking at the teenager who immediately bonds with her. “You’re welcome,” she just replies, and all that are in the room laugh, releasing the tension.

“Do you remember something more now?” Sheriff Stilinski asks tensed, hoping his son will be able to deliver more details and fill up some gaps.

“No, just bits and pieces,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I remember the color of her hair now and where she died. It was a shack of some sort, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you take me there, dad? I feel that it might help me to regain some of my memories. And we need to go through mug shots too, it might trigger something.” Stiles smiles at Annie. “Just like she did.”

“Later, son,” the sheriff says dismissively. “Dr. Dunbar told me you’ll need at least three to four more days to recover before you’ll be released and we can find that bastard.”

Stiles shoots a warning gaze at Annie, who listens intently to a conversation that she’s not supposed to hear. Her parents get the drift and takes the girl out of the room, leaving the complete pack, Melissa and Stilinski in the room.

“I’ll come back later to talk to you,” her father says, leaving the group behind. Stiles shoves the sheets covering his legs aside and gets up.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” his father asks, as he watches his son standing next to the bed. “Don’t you dare pretend nothing has happened to you, Stiles? You’ve been put through the wringer, you can’t just act as you always do.”

“Dad, I won’t be fighting off anyone,” Stiles smiles, “I just want to get out of here, even if it means  you putting me in a damned wheelchair for all I care, but please get me out of here. I’m going crazy, okay?”

Melissa pushes the teenager back on the bed. “You’re not going anywhere, young man. You can’t just walk out of here after all that’s happened to you.”

“That was before and this is now,” Stiles mutters, “I’m fine, Melissa. I promise I won’t act foolish. I just want to get out of this room.”

"Amusing, but don’t think I’m laughing,” Melissa reacts dryly. “Listen to what your body is telling   
you, Stiles. You are not fit to go.”

“It’s telling me I have to get out of here. Come on dad, please?” Stiles looks at his dad pleadingly. “You know you need me to figure this out. I’m the only one who saw that guy, okay? You can settle me on a couch at the sheriff’s station somewhere or push me around in a wheelchair for all I care, but I have to help somehow!”

The Sheriff sighs, knowing he can’t stop his son. He gazes at Melissa who rolls her eyes and mutters something about the son being just as stubborn as his father. She leaves to find Dunbar, knowing all too well Stiles is perfectly capable of dismissing himself.

“I can’t have you wander about like that, Stiles,” his father says, knowing he’s caving in.

“I won’t be alone, the pack will protect me.”

Helplessly the sheriff looks at Derek who smiles. “He actually has a point, Sheriff,” the wolf smiles. “Stiles can help find your culprit, we have nothing at this moment apart from that special scent. If he sees him, his mind might trigger something. We can take him back there under our guard. I swear we won’t leave him alone.”

Stiles grins, patting Derek’s shoulder mischievously. "I have this feeling that our friend here will be my shadow for as long as we roam Beacon Hills, right Derek?”

The older wolf mutters something under his breath, causing the others to laugh, despite everything that’s been going on.

“I’ll go get that wheelchair then,” Malia says, deciding for them all, knowing her former boyfriend is as stubborn as a mule, as is she.

"Good," Stiles smiles. "That is settled then. Now, will someone find me some fitting clothes, or do I have to walk through Beacon Hills in this lovely hospital outfit?”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “I’ll push your wheelchair.”


	17. The fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!

**Chapter 17: The fear**

 The sun slowly peeks from behind the clouds, replacing the dreary morning sky with a scorching summer’s promise. Soon, the sun's heat once more burns over the rocks and quarries of the Preserve, there where the trees don’t cover the grounds.

Despite the heat, Lewis shivers and pulls his warm coat over his body, knowing all too well he’ll never get warm again. Born and raised in Beacon Hills, with the fortunate luck of having wealthy parents taking care of him, he never had a care in the world.

But there was a shadow lingering over him now and he knew he had to fix it. He had already messed up too many times and can’t afford another failure. He has to be perfect now, just like his brother.

Ever since he grew up in the shadow of his brother Frederik, Lewis has learned now to stay invisible. His father taught him so in order for him to become a better deer hunter, but hunting animals never was his thing. Instead, he learned how to move amongst humans in a way nobody never truly noticed him. That was his one skill in life.

Lewis has always been an outcast. Never able to speak with women, never able to find a proper girlfriend. He usually was the sidekick, the ‘friend of’ and forgotten when they all got married and he was left standing in the cold.

He hates Beacon Hills. Oh, how he detests it. He wants money to live in a small village somewhere quiet, surrounded by calm and nature and led a good life. Raise a family perhaps, with a proper woman. But he doesn’t know how to talk to people and hasn’t found the courage to tell his brother to go to hell too.

Even after all these years, he’s still living in Frederik’s shadow, in a small house on the property his brother built with their parents’ inheritance. To his older brother, it had seemed quite normal that he would stay close. Lewis has always been considered Frederik’s pet project. And so he stays on, despite his hatred for this place and his family, apart from the little girl his brother is raising.

He has learned how to hate women by now. They’re all the same, shallow, too obedient and they all pull away when he tries to kiss them. He has given up on finding someone who accepts him for who he is.

He remains in the shadows. 

He changed his hunting interests into a sickening desire for children, even though he doesn’t think of them _that_ way. He just learned that he needs the rush to kill and they are an easy prey, bleeding in his arms, their blood strengthening him somehow.

He learned by pure accident that killing children gave him thrills nothing else in life could. So he killed and buried for years, but the thirst was never quenched.

Oh, how he aches to kill once more, he thinks as he brushes his mare Velvet.

"Lewis?" A small hand on his arm startles him. 

He turns around, seeing his niece.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he smiles. “How are you?”

“Good,” she says. “Do you want to go for a ride?”

He smiles, grabbing her by the hand.

“With you? Always, Annie.”

He watches her as they went out for their ride, the girl sitting on her favorite mare, humming a song as they enjoy the weather. It’s a bright day, better than expected for the time of year and Annie often closes her eyes to allow the sun on her skin.

When she opens her eyes, she smiles.

“You’re so cheerful today, Annie?” he asks her.

“Yeah, I am. Did you hear the good news about Stiles yet?”

He freezes immediately. “No.”

“He’s released from the hospital and feeling much better. His dad was apparently very worried, but they were going to move him back home so he could rest up and help with the investigation. They’re hoping he might be able to identify the killer soon, if he’s back in his old environment. Daddy told me that they are planning to take him to the quarry in the hopes his memory might be triggered.”

Ice cold blood runs through Lewis’ veins.

“They’re taking him here?”

“Yep,” Annie smiles. “It might help, don’t you think? I’ve offered dad to come too so I can tell them what happened when I found him.

Lewis sighs under his breath, seeing red before his eyes. He’s so tired of the battle, so very, very tired. A rush of blood runs through his head, making him queasy. He has to get out of here soon, he knows that, but he can’t even muster the strength to run. He needs blood.

He looks at Annie.

“You know what? It sounds like a great idea. Hopefully he’ll remember.”

The girl smiles happily and steers her mare back to the house. “I might ask daddy to have him stay over. The house is big enough and the change of scenery would do him good, don’t you think?”

Lewis swallows away his fears.

If he wants to kill the girl to quench his thirst, he has to do it soon, before the teenager accidentally stumbles into him and identifies him.


	18. The couch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so terribly sorry for posting so late! This chapter will be relatively short too, but I'm enjoying the very warm weather and haven't been writing much. I'll try to post more in the next few days!

**Chapter 18: The couch**

“Dad, I’m fine. Stop fretting!”

Stiles settles down on the couch in his father’s office. The others force him to lie down, despite his own protests to do so. As his head hits the pillow though, he feels better immediately, not wanting to give in earlier to the fatigue that lingers all the time.

They didn’t force him to sit in that damned wheelchair for long, fortunately. As soon as he got in his father’s car, Lydia brought it back to the emergency entrance with a smile on her face, knowing all too well Stiles would never sit in it for long.

In the car over, he briefly fell asleep, his father eyeing him concerned, but Malia, sitting in the back, just smiled.

“He’s finally recovering,” she said quietly, placing a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “He’s not in pain and he’s sleeping peacefully.”

“Is he going to be okay though? This was quite a shock,” John Stilinski sighed. “I wish I could do more, but I can’t.”

“He’ll be fine. You know Stiles, always resilient,” Malia smiled.

“And what about you?” The sheriff asked her cautiously.

“I think I’m going to be okay,” she replied, her smile fading a little bit but her eyes very calm and not upset. “I kind of always knew he had something special with her, I just never wanted to see it.”

“You’re a good person, Malia,” Stilinski spoke, looking at her in the mirror, seeing how her hand was still on Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

She leaned back then and gazed outside, not saying another word while Stiles slowly stirred and woke up.

Stilinski sits down in front of his son, shoving his chair closer to the couch so they’re face to face, noting down all the details of what Stiles remembers. Then he leaves his office to give the information to his deputies, informing them about what Stiles still remembers, which is basically, next to nothing. Leaving Stiles on the couch despite his protests, Lydia staying with him, the sheriff briefs the troops, giving orders on the search for their killer.

Derek bites his fingernail as he listens in, trying to work out the protruding scent that still bugs him. Scott and Malia share a gaze, knowing all too well they have nothing to go on and are looking for a needle in a haystack.

“So what do we do next?” Scott asks the sheriff. “Can we help?”

“You can help by keeping my son safe,” John sighs, rubbing his tired face. “If I can count on you guys to handle a very stubborn Stiles, you’ll be doing a lot.”

“We’ll take him to the loft,” Derek offers, “he’ll be safe there, I guarantee.”

“I trust in you guys,” Stilinski says gratefully, “but don’t underestimate my stubborn son, you know what he’s like.”

“All too well,” Scott grins.

The sheriff opens the door to his office and stands still, smiling at what he sees. Stiles has fallen asleep despite himself, lying peacefully on the couch, stirring quietly in his dreams. Lying next to him on the couch, Lydia protectively has one arm over him.

The sheriff watches his son, whose face still bears the scars of what has happened and the girl he has been in love with for a long time.

With a smile on his face, he covers the two with a blanket before closing the door again, while the evening falls over Beacon Hills.

“He’s nowhere safer than here,” Scott tells the sheriff. “Why don’t you go? We’ll stay here until they wake up and then take them to the loft.”

Stilinski squeezes Scott’s shoulder.

“Perfect.”

The sheriff leaves the office, knowing his son is in good hands while he searches for the man that has been endangering Beacon Hills. When he returns in the morning, he finds the whole pack still in his office, all asleep as they lie protectively around the couch. Every single one of them, including Derek, has finally fallen asleep, fatigue and the emotions of the past days taking over.

John turns to Jordan Parrish. “Have they been here all night?”

“Oh yeah,” Parrish smiles. “I ordered breakfast, should be here soon. I figured this would happen.”

“Good thinking, Parrish,” Stilinski smiles. “You’re a good man, every single time again.”

Ten minutes later, the room finally awakens.

John smiles as he sees his son’s surprise when he realizes he has slept through the night on his father’s couch.

“Good morning, sunshine,” the sheriff grins. “Guess you were right about one thing: That hospital room was no good for you, but my office was.”


	19. The answers lie in that smell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this chapter is so late! In between vacation and work, I didn't have much time the past days to write.  
> I promise to update sooner in the next days.   
> Please leave a comment or kudos if you like the story. Thanks!

"I still believe that the answer lies in that scent," Stiles says while eating breakfast with his left hand. His right arm and hand rest against his chest, healing rapidly now from their ordeal. The fact he has a choice of friends leeching his pain, helps too.

The table is stacked with a huge pile of breakfast, brought on by the deputies who treat the group. The others watch in amusement as Stiles eats greedily, as if he hasn’t eaten properly in many   
days. Which he hasn’t.

“Slow down, don’t forget to chew,” his father reminds him laughingly, happy that his son is returning to his old self.

“Are you referring to the smell of food or something else?” Derek asks smiling. “You eat like a caveman, Stiles. You’re going to damage your stomach. Go easy on the food.”

Stiles ignores them, finishes off his second croissant and licks his fingertips.

“I’m talking about the scent that was in the hospital room. I recognized it from where I was found, wrapped up in that blanket. Dad, you said it yourself it was all around me.”

“Yeah, you don’t need to be werewolf to smell it either,” Lydia agrees. “It was pretty much there.”

“So what was it?” Scott asks. “I’d never smelled it before. It was very strong, poignant and it actually somehow hurt my senses.”

“Animals,” Derek says, “that’s for sure. I’m pretty sure it smelled like horses, but it was more.”

“You found me near that ranch, didn’t you?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah, but the scent wasn’t there,” Derek says, “I would have recognized it there too.”

“That family has nothing to do with it,” Sheriff Stilinski immediately says, “that girl’s family saved your life.”

“But what I was in those stables somehow?” Stiles asks. “It could have been one of their employees too. What do we know about that place?”

“They have four employees, and then there is the family itself,” John explains, “but they are definitely not to blame. They searched for you, offered their help and basically helped find you. Why would they do that if they wanted you dead?”

“I’m not thinking it’s one of them, dad,” Stiles says, “you’re right, it wouldn’t make any sense at all. But we can’t rule out their stablemen, right? So let’s start there.”

Moving up, Stiles looks at the others. “Can we go?”

“You’re not going anywhere besides my loft,” Derek states firmly. “You have to stay under our protection, Stiles. That man already tried to kill you twice, he’ll try again. He won’t stop now.”

“Nice attempt,” Stiles smiles, “but you damn well know you need me. A visit to those stables might trigger some sort of memory. If that smell is there, the door in my head might open. Dad, you know I’m right.”

Stilinski sighs. “Stiles, Derek is right, how am I to protect you if you voluntarily seek out danger?”

“Dad, I’m not, okay? You know I’ll be fine. I’m not going to be in danger with the lot of you watching every step I take. I need to talk to that girl too, the one who found me.”

“Annie,” Lydia says.

“Correct. She saw me first, so she might be my trigger to the truth. Please, dad. You can lock me up in a safe room after that, for all I care, but I have to use every opportunity I can to figure this out. The sooner we know the truth, the sooner I’ll be safe.”

“Stiles does have a point,” Lydia says, “and he’s not in danger at this moment.”

Stilinski pulls an eyebrow.

“At this moment?”

“I mean, I don’t sense his death,” Lydia continues, stopping when she sees the look on the others’ faces. “Okay, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying he’s okay as long as he’s with us, alright?”

“Perfect,” Stiles smiles, wincing briefly as his arm reminds him of what he’s been through. At least his head and chest have stopped hurting. At least he’s doing much better, almost back as new. Apart from the fact he can barely use his arm that is.

“If I see you slump one time, or if you are too tired or wince just a second, I’m hauling your ass back to that hospital bed and tie you down on it Stiles, you hear me?” his father threatens, a grimace plastered on his face.

“Scout’s honor, dad.”

“You’re not even a Scout.”

“I know,” Stiles grins, patting Scott on the back with his good hand. “Let’s go.”

The wolves grunt, Lydia rolls her eyes and Malia and Kira just smile knowingly as they follow the sheriff, Parrish and Stiles outside, knowing all too well there is no way of stopping him.


	20. Quenching his thirst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much again for the many comments!

**Chapter 20: Quenching his thirst**

If there is one thing to say about Lewis, it is that he is always right about the horses. Blue Velvet has been too rough on Annie, but Little Daisy was just perfect for her, especially now that she's still recovering from her illness, even though she always claims to be just fine.

He wants to enjoy her presence, and relish the fact the boy is dead. He's pretty sure that's he's safe now, as nobody told him anything else. He hasn't seen his brother and niece anymore since the night before, as he stayed in his own quarters all night, trying to get some rest for his weary mind.

He gives her the animal when she comes to the stables in the early morning with the promise to ride out together again. This time, they will stay near the premises, as per order of his brother, Annie's father.

"I want to see where you are," he calls out to them, "don't wander off, not with a killer on the loose."

The horse underneath Annie isn't as sweet as her name and she isn't a beginner's animal either. Her spirit and temper fit the girl's riding style just fine. Lewis watches her from a distance. He's fixated by her and knows more than ever that she is the ultimate gift to him, but not just yet. He needs to wait for the right time to come and that is not now, not with his brother so close by. He wouldn't be able to kill her in peace.

Lewis watches amused as Annie enjoys the horse. When the ride is over, he takes over the reigns and brings Little Daisy back to the stables of Beacon Hills while Annie walks next to him.

"You are very happy this morning," he comments. "I would have thought everyone would be pretty upset."

"Upset?" Annie asks surprised. "What for?"

Lewis looks aside briefly. "Didn't that kid die?"

"Die? Who?" Annie stares at him surprised. "Stiles? But he's not dead, didn't you know?"

Lewis grasps the reigns more firmly, incidentally pulling Little Daisy's head down, causing a stir from the horse's mouth.

"Uncle Lewis, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he utters hoarsely, "I'm okay. Just surprised, but happy he's okay. So where is he now, still at the hospital?"

"I don't know for sure, but daddy said they would take him home. I'm thinking about visiting him when he's out of the hospital, what do you think? Maybe I can help him get better and remember, like last night."

"What do you mean?" Lewis asks palely.

"Well, daddy took me to the hospital last night and when we met, he was very shocked to see me. Apparently I triggered some sort of memory, I reminded him of that girl who died. So maybe, if I can see him again, he might remember more. Can you drive me? Then you can meet him too and he can see who helped save his life."

"I don't understand," Lewis utters.

"You helped find him too, Uncle Lewis, he should know that."

"I don't gratitude for that," Lewis says quietly. "But I can drive you and pick you up, if your dad agrees. But not right now, I have to get a move on and clean the stables."

Together they walk back in silence to the stables, where he leaves Annie behind to take care of the horses. It's over. The kid will take one look at him and recognize him. What to do? He has to take Annie as soon as he can, before they stop him. He has to have her, no matter what. She's the trigger to his ultimate happiness.

He's so damned scare. The man sighs deeply, closing his eyes as he leans against the stable doors. Where can he go? What could he do? He has no place to run to, not a place to hide. His life is over. He has to take Annie and just _run_.

Lewis looks outside and sees thick thunderclouds form over Beacon Hills. The wind already whistles its soft tune through the creaking roof. He has always enjoyed that sound, even stopping his tasks to listen to it. And now he will not even hear it anymore. The storm will prevent him from escaping Beacon Hills with Annie.

Lewis finally leaves the stables and overlooks the terrain from the stables, finding Annie running back to her father's house excitedly. Then fear grasps his heart as three cars pull up and park before the main house. Shocked, he stares at the people coming out, immediately recognizing Stiles, arm still in a sling resting against his chest.

He's out of the hospital. He's doing well, too well for a boy who has been on the brink of death many times. How can he be this fine?

He takes deep breaths and backs off before they can see him, but they're not looking around. They're focusing on Annie and her father, Stiles addressing her.

Lewis swallows away his fears, knowing he won't be able to take her now, won't be able to escape without being noticed. He has to stay invisible, gone from them, as if he doesn't exist. He has to prevent the kid from seeing him.

At that moment he swears that, if he is caught and has to go, he won't go out alone. He'll take Stiles with him. That, he swears on his mother's life.

This shock, they head for the stables, _his_ turf. He stumbles to the back, hiding behind a beam as the group heads for the stables, past the doors. Annie and her father are with them, Frederic gesturing as they go through the large building that holds twelve horses.

He knows that they are close, but he can't run away now. He is fascinated, as he sees how Annie grabs Stiles' hand protectively and he smiles back at her. He needs to have them both to quench his thirst.


	21. The horses

**Chapter 21: The horses**

"The smell is here," Scott says as they enter the stables.

Derek nods. "Agreed."

They watch Stiles as he wearily closes his eyes as he releases Annie's grip, trying to focus as he takes in the scents that linger within the stables. There are certain smells that come with horses and stables. Their food, their manure and their natural scents, and there is the smell of herbs and plants and straw. Together, they form that distinctive smell that all stables have.

And then there is that atypical scent that will lead them to their killer. There is no doubt in anyone's minds that the man was here. The wolves and coyote nod at each other, avoiding to show to the humans present that they are different. They know that they are on a trail.

"You'd better wait outside," the sheriff tells Frederic and his daughter, nodding at a few deputies who take them outside. "Is there anyone else in here?"

"Not that I know of," Frederic says.

"Uncle Lewis was here earlier," Annie says, "but he said he would head out for a while. And Mark and Andy were here too."

"Who are they?"

"My staff," Frederic explains. "But I assure you they are innocent."

Stilinski, Parrish, Derek and the teenagers walk through the stables cautiously, looking for signs of threat, but they find none. All the way in the back, they find the two stablemen working hard, surprised by the sheriff's presence.

Derek sniffs, then shakes his head. "It's not on them."

The men look at him surprised.

"Is there anyone else in here?" Stilinski asks.

"No," they both say.

Stiles walks through the stables, alongside Scott and Lydia, stopping at each small compound where animals stand. Sometimes he will stop and close his eyes, scenting again as he tries to distinguish that particular smell he has upon him for some time now.

Scott shakes his head.

"The scent is vaguely present, but not that much."

"What if our killer has it on him?" Scott asks, "instead of it being linked to the horses?"

"I don't know," Stiles says frustrated, rubbing his good hand through his hair.

"Wait a second." Derek moves forward, grabbing the teenager's hand and sniffing it. "It's on you too, right now."

"What? How?"

"Did you touch anything?" John asks.

"No, dad. I didn't."

"You touched Annie's hand," Lydia points out.

Stiles stops suddenly, recalling Annie's comforting gesture. The group turns and heads outside, where Lydia kneels before the girl and takes her hand in hers, folding it open. Derek sniffs it.

"She has it too."

"What's going on?" Frederik asks shocked.

"Annie," John kneels by her side. "Can you tell us what you did today?"

"Nothing much," Annie mutters.

"You rode your horse," her father reminds her.

"Yeah, I did, but it wasn't my horse today, it was Little Daisy."

"And what did you do then?"

"I was at the stables, helping out Uncle Lewis before he sent me to the house. I helped take care of Velvet, who is sick."

"Velvet?" Derek asks.

"One of Uncle Lewis' horses. I gave her some of his herbs to make her sleep so she could heal properly. He said it would make her better."

"What did you give her?" Stilinski asks.

"This." Annie walks into the back of the stables and returns with a small bucket filled with dried herbs, hidden in an old cupboard. Stiles' nostrils immediately fill with the scent that dizzies him. He has scented this before, and he's certain he has digested this too."

"Oh god," Lydia says, "what is that?"

Stiles backs off, feeling dizzy as Stilinski takes over, grabbing the bucket tight as he stares inside of it, taking in the dry herbs.

"Where does this plant come from?" he asks Frederi, "and what is it?"

"I don't know," Frederic admits, "Lewis uses it for his sick horses, look Velvet is still asleep. It makes them calm."

"That horse is completely out of it," Derek remarks. "That is not a normal sleep."

"Stiles was poisoned with this at the hospital," Scott says, "I have no doubt about that."

"No, Lewis would never do that," Annie cries out surprised. "My uncle is innocent!"

"My brother would never do that," Frederic agrees, albeit weakly. He doesn't seem as convinced as his daughter.

"He came with us that night, guiding us to the quarry," Annie says. "He wouldn't do this!"

"You lead us, Annie, not your uncle," Lydia says gently. "He mislead you first, remember?"

"Do you have a photo?" Stiles asks stressed.

"He should be around," Frederic says, "so you can see him. He'll be at the house for sure. Don't you think my brother would have run by now if he knew Stiles was still alive?"

"But he thought he was dead," Annie says slowly. "I told him this morning and he was very surprised. Oh god, not Uncle Lewis, daddy."

"Let's just wait and see," Frederic sooths his daughter. "I'm sure it's a mistake, Annie. You're right, he would never do that."

"Let's make sure of that first then," Derek says, gritting his teeth, showing he's not so sure about that.

Annie watches stressed as the group searches the stables to no avail, not finding Lewis. Then they leave the horses and walk through Beacon Hills towards a small house suited for only one man, as part of the premise.

Derek knocks hard on the door, waiting for a reply that doesn't come. He then opens the door, finding the house filled with personal belongings, but no trace of the man itself.

"Search the premises," Stilinski orders, "he has to be around somewhere. Do you have a photo of him lying about? I'll spread an APB."

"No," Frederic says, "I don't have a single picture of him. My brother's very –"

He stops and looks at his daughter, asking his wife then to take her outside so she doesn't hear. Then he turns to the sheriff.

"You're not so sure he did _not_ do this, are you?" Stiles asks tiredly, "you're having doubts about him."

"How can you not have any photos of your brother?" Lydia asks troubled.

"Lewis has always been very shy and insecure," Frederic admits. "He suffered from oxygen deprivation at birth and that sort of set him back. After my parents died, I took him in but I didn't want him to live in my house, so I set up that house for him. He's unable to find a job, you see. He's only good with horses. He's the reason why we have so many and why our riding classes are so popular."

"But?" Derek lifts an eyebrow.

"But, I have to admit he scares me at times. He's always off somewhere with his mind, I don't know how to deal with that. I will tell you though that my brother will still be around, he'll never leave Beacon Hills, he was born and raised here."

"Would he be capable of murder?"

"I don't know," Frederic admits. "He often dwells off for a while and I never know where he is then. He leaves agitated and comes back relaxed."

"Where was he the night of the girl's murder?" Scott asks tensed, looking at Stiles who is sitting down exhausted.

"I don't know. I guess in his house, as he always is, but I can't confirm that he was."

"It's him," Stiles says quietly. "I remember that name. The man was muttering in himself, cursing out loud, talking to himself. I remember the name, dad. It has to be him."

"Then we have to find him fast," John says, worried about his son.


	22. The word spreads around

Chapter 22: The word spreads around

Soon enough the word spreads about the suspect that has the sheriff's department looking around frantically around Beacon Hills. Strangely enough, not many of the town's citizens know what he looks like, even though he has lived amongst them for many years and has taken care of their horses and worked with many of them.

Lewis is one of those people who would blend in easily, who was able to live and not be seen. Frederic has given as good as possible description of his brother, but failed to do so. In the end, it was Annie who gave a full description of her uncle and then continued to explain that is too gentle and would never do something like this.

But the fact the dead child resembles her so much, disturbs them even more. With every passing minute, when they couldn't find him, the rumors became gossip and the gossip spread like a fire through the rest of Beacon Hills. They all said now that Lewis was a child murderer and that they would find him before he could kill again.

Yet at the same time, most of them didn't even know that Lewis was standing amongst them, chatting with complete strangers about himself as if he was searching for him too. He entered a bar and listened to the gossip, trying to figure out what they knew. He had no intention of leaving the town, as he wouldn't go without Annie.

The sheriff's department is in uproar, with people discussing the matter of the herbs and the scent that both Stiles and the wolves recognized. And as Annie continued to defend her uncle, Stiles says he will know when he sees him, convinced that the encounter will trigger his memory. Perhaps that way, at long last, the facts would return and become clear to them all.

The teenager stubbornly sits down, refusing to go home, as he listens to the many discussions going on at the same time. After hours of searching, the sheriff reluctantly admits to the fact that the man may have already fled. It that's the case, it will become a long search.

Lydia says he's still near. She also says the danger is returning, while Stiles slumps more and more in his seat, trying to stay awake.

At long last, it's Scott who steps forward and tells his best friend to go and rest. Stiles refuses and ignores his friend's firm glance, but finally gives in anyhow when Derek tells him to stop being so idiotic. He's tired, and as night begins to fall, it becomes clear that they're looking for a ghost.

"Come on, I'll take you to the loft," Derek says, not taking no for an answer.

"We'll join," Scott speaks in behalf of the pack, keeping his vow to the sheriff.

Stiles gets up, shaking on his legs, wavering as his knees are hardly able to carry him. Derek grabs him tight.

"Time to get some sleep," the oldest wolf smiles. "Come on."

"Why am I feeling so crappy?" Stiles sighs, looking at his dad. "I feel like I'm a hundred years old."

"Because you've been to the outskirts of hell and then came back," his father smiles. "Get some sleep."

As the group protectively walks Stiles out, Frederic looks worried at the sheriff.

"Is he okay? He seems worse than he was this morning."

"If there is one thing that I have learned from my son, it is that he overestimates his own will and needs to rest more instead of breaking his head over concerns," the Sheriff replies. "He'll be fine."

"I have to head home too," Frederic says, "my daughter is really upset about all of this. Do you really think Lewis is capable of doing this?"

"I'm afraid all evidence points at him at this moment," Stilinski admits, "and I hope he'll turn himself in so he can prove us otherwise. But as long as he stays under the radar and keeps himself hidden, he's our prime suspect."

"I understand," Frederic sighs. "I'm really sorry about all of this, sheriff. I can't understand my brother is capable of murder, but-"

"But you know something was off."

"Yeah. How do you deal with this?"

"By surviving," John says, patting Frederic, who has been out helping all day to track down his brother. "You're a good man, please remember that. This is not your fault."

"Lydia and Stiles are really good with Annie. Would you mind if they would come over tomorrow or so to talk to her, in case I don't get her calmed down? They're staying with my sister-in-law at the moment, but I'll take her home. Lewis won't harm her, I'm sure."

"I'm sure they wouldn't mind," the sheriff says, "but be careful with Lewis though, he's unpredictable. I have men around your area too for as long as it takes."

"Thanks, sheriff. Why don't you all come over for dinner when all this is over? It's the least I can do."

"I'll keep you on that," John smiles. "Thank you."

The men shake hands before Frederic leaves, a worried frown on his face. He knows he has a daughter to talk to, and no idea how to handle this.

John sighs as he glances at his watch, knowing he should be with Stiles. It's all happening so fast now, he has no time to focus fully on him, even though he wants to. He feels guilty for letting him go, but he knows he has no choice.

It bugs him.


	23. Days go by

Chapter 23: Days go by  
“Get some rest, Stiles,” Derek says, showing Stiles to the bed. Wearily, the teenager sits down and allows Lydia to remove his shoes, while the others watch.  
“I’m not tired,” he yawns.  
“Really?” Derek snorts.  
“Don’t be so stubborn,” Scott reacts. “Go to bed. We’ll stay here.”  
“And guard me?” Stiles smiles, as he leans down on the soft bed.  
“Yep,” Scott grins.  
“You should be out there, looking for him.”  
“We will, your dad will,” Derek says. “Sleep, or do I have to knock you out?”  
Stiles allows Lydia to cover him with a blanket and watches her, as she sits on the side of the bed.  
"Do you think he’s gone?" Stiles asks Derek, knowing he won’t lie.  
“I don’t know.”  
With that, the wolves leave them alone. Stiles sighs, looking at Lydia, who holds his hand.  
“Why would he kill a girl?”  
"It’s a strange world, Stiles,” Lydia says. “He’s sick in his head. A twisted mind is unpredictable.”  
“Why can’t I remember his face?”  
“You will,” she reacts.  
“Tell me the truth, are we in danger?”  
She hesitates. “I’m not sure. Go to sleep.”  
She kisses him gently on the lips, watching how he drifts off quietly, until he’s asleep. As she leaves the room, the others watch her concerned.  
“He’s near, and he’s dangerous,” she says quietly. “I feel death, and it has to do with Stiles. He’s coming back for him.”  
“Then I’ll rip his throat out before he can harm anyone else,” Derek speaks gruffly. “He won’t harm another fly.”  
Scott sighs, knowing the older wolf is right. That man is too dangerous, but he doesn’t want to kill him. It’s not his fault, he’s just sick.  
“Let’s get some rest,” Malia says. “Now that we can.”  
“I’ll keep first watch,” Derek says, walking into the bedroom before the others can say another word. They wind up talking together for hours instead of sleeping, discussing how to keep Stiles safe from the man who tried to kill him, knowing that in the end, he might just be waiting for the ultimate moment to strike. And that can take ages.  
During the night and the two nights that follow, they take turns watching the teenager as he catches up on sleep and recovers in Derek’s loft. During the day, they head towards the sheriff’s station to talk about the situation. During the nights, they return to the safety of Derek’s loft, knowing they can’t do anything else.  
At the same time, the manhunt for Lewis continues, but he has vanished without a trace and the sheriff’s department finally, reluctantly accepts, that the man is gone. After four days of searching, the sheriff calls off the search, as there are other pressing things to follow up on.  
Annie’s description of the man has turned into a picture drawn by a police artist, which have been spread all over town, but no one has seen the man.  
He’s gone.  
That night, sheriff Stilinski goes to talk to Frederic and his family, telling them that Lewis has vanished without a trace.  
“At this moment, there’s nothing much I can do,” he says. “We have everyone looking out for him and if he ever shows up here again, let me know immediately, but we must pursue other cases too. At this moment, he remains our prime suspect and he’ll be the one that we will charge for the death of that girl. But I can’t keep on searching for him with all my forces, no matter how much I want to.”  
“I understand, sheriff,” Frederic says. “Thank you. Can I invite you for dinner tonight? I promised you a thank you-dinner and I always keep up my promises. Stiles is doing much better, right?”  
“Yeah, he is. His arm is still in a sling and he’s going to start therapy in a couple of days, but he’s doing fine.”  
“Please ask all of your friends to join, my wife is a wonderful cook. It’ll close off this horrible period, won’t it?”  
“Thank you,” Stilinski says, shaking hands with the man he immediately liked. “Thank you for saving my son, I still can’t thank you enough for that.”  
“You’re welcome,” he smiles. “See you tonight.”


	24. The dinner party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the late update, no my usual habit, but the summer has messed up my schedule bigtime :)  
> anyways, things are picking up rather dramatically again.  
> thanks for reading and commenting!

**Chapter 24: The dinner party**

Stiles wakes with a start, surprised at the sweat that sticks to his face and throat. He looks up shocked, wondering what’s going on. Something’s off, he can feel it.

He was a dinner party, at Annie’s house. They were eating wonderful food, cooked by her mother. They were chatting. And then nothing.

He looks around, staring at the others, scattered all over the room. Shocked, he tries to get out of his chair, realizing he can’t. He feels paralyzed, numb. He’s still sitting next to his father, who lies face down on the table, his body still in the chair.

Melissa is on the ground, slid out of her chair next to John. Scott is on the floor too, just like Lydia, Derek, Kira, Parrish, Malia and Liam. Oh god, all of them are out for the count. And there are Annie’s parents, out too, just like all of them.

The entire room is filled with unconscious forms. But that can’t be, the wolves wouldn’t react to drugs like this, unless – He used herbs that knocks out animals. He used them out of habit, but they might have affected the wolf’s side of his friends too. And they would definitely be strong enough to knock a regular human out too.

“Dad,” he rasps.  “Dad, wake up.”

Stiles wills himself to move his hands and whole form, forcing himself out of the chair, fighting against the paralysis. Annie, where is Annie? She was upstairs, in bed, having said goodnight to everyone as the hours passed by.

“Annie,” he grunts, knowing the girl is in danger.

“Right here.”

Relieved he sees the girl run towards him, grabbing his good arm tight before he can fall out of the chair. “Oh my god, Stiles, what happened? Are they – Mommy? Daddy?”

“I think they’re unconscious,” Stiles says, fighting off the dizziness. “Annie, you have to touch my dad’s throat. Try if you can feel a heartbeat. Can you do that for me?”

She nods and pushes her fingers against John’s skin.

“He’s alive,” she says relieved.

“Good. Good,” Stiles reacts hopefully. “Then there’s hope. Annie, find a phone. My smartphone, in my pocket. I can’t move, Annie. Can you get it?”

She nods and leans towards him, reaching for the phone.

“It’s not working, we barely have any connection up here,” she says, “I have to get to my dad’s phone in the study, he has a special one.”

“Then go,” Stiles urges her. “Call 911 and tell them Lewis is here.”

“He’s here?” she cries out.

“He has to be. Do you smell that, Annie? Those herbs, not the same as before, but probably just as dangerous. You have to get help.”

“Not without you.”

She pushes her small form as a balancer against Stiles, holding him up. “You’ll be fine,” she says, “Can you move your legs?”

Stiles nods after a few attempts, realizing it were the herbs that temporarily numbed him. “Why am I awake?” he mutters. “Why me and not the others? He wants this, doesn’t he? He wants to play a game with us.”

Annie's cast a concerned gaze at Stiles' pale features as they exit the room, the teenager leaning heavily onto her. The whole building is empty of people and the only ones left, are their friends. He doesn’t want to leave the others, but he knows they’re fine for now. Lewis could have killed them all, but he didn’t. He just wants them. 

Before them, the inner door leading to the second living area is locked from the inside out. Lewis knows the phone is important. Stiles throws his weight against it, ignoring the pain that shoots through his arm. It won’t give in. And the shadows move. They know they can’t win against Lewis like this.

"The other way." Annie pulls the teenager with her towards the other side, where a door leads outside. It’s locked too.

“More ways out?” he asks wearily, shaking off the darkness from his mind.

“The kitchen.”

At that moment the door behind them opens, the key turned almost unheard at first.

"Stiles!" Annie shouts as she pushes herself against it, keeping Lewis out for a moment, but he’s stronger than they are.   
   
"Annie, get back." Annie hears Stiles react and with his left hand he pushes her backwards until   
they’re away from the door as Lewis tries to slam it open again. Desperately, Stiles searches for something to block the door. He shoves a chair under the handle.

“We need to find another way out _now._ ”

“There isn’t any,” Annie says quietly. “We’re trapped.”


	25. The attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry for not being able to finish this story earlier, not my habit but real life and medical reasons came in the way.  
> I finished writing the story this weekend, so i'll post a chapter every day for the next few days to finish it.

**Chapter 25: The attack**  
 

As they try to figure out a way out, Stiles starts to realize what must have happened to his friends. Lewis is a man of horses, someone so used to working with herbs to keep them calm in times of need, he might have used something that could be working hard against dogs too. He might not even have realized it, but drugging them all, he might have used something that could really knock out a bunch of werewolves and a coyote too. Kira isn’t with them tonight, as she had a dinner date with her parents.

And he knows that Lewis intently drugged him less, wanting him awake before he would kill him. He would kill Annie, his own niece, as if she meant nothing. Annie's voice becomes a screech that can be heard from far away as she holds Stiles up, knowing she has to help save their lives.

It becomes quiet behind the door, where Lewis is standing, as if they all dreamt it.

“We have to get to the other side of that door and get out, or break open a window and make a run for it,” Stiles whispers, pulling Annie behind him. 

“We won’t make it far, he’ll catch us immediately. We’re safer in here,” Annie says. “Those glass windows are thick, if we keep them closed on the inside, he won’t be able to break the glass.”

“But you can make a run for it,” Stiles whispers to her.

“No, I won’t leave you behind!”

“You’re small and fast, Annie. You can run past the quarry until you get to the main road. Get help. I’ll stop him, he won’t come after you.” Stiles grabs her by the arms and pulls her against him, calming her down.

“I can’t, Stiles,” she cries.

“Annie, I need you to be brave now,” Stiles tells her quietly, soothing her. “Listen to me, you are the only one who can get help out there. Is there a window or a passage you can use where he won’t see you?”

She thinks, looking at the teenager in hope all of a sudden.

“Yes, the window in the pantry.”

“Okay great, show me.”

Annie grabs him by the hand and pulls him with her, towards the locked pantry that holds a small window fit for her to crawl through.

“Good,” Stiles smiles relieved. “I’m going to lift you through this, Annie. And then you run, okay? You run and you keep on running.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll distract him. He’ll want to come in and finish me off, that has been his intent for ages. So I’ll get him what he wants.”

“You’ll die, Stiles,” she cries out.

He doesn’t tell Annie that he is not Lewis’ ultimate target. She is. He can feel that in his bones. He needs to get her out so she’ll at least be safe. His mind races back to his friends and family, knowing he couldn’t leave them. So he made a decision to save the girl first and then go back to the others, so he could wake them all.

Stiles opens the window, pushes Annie to the ledge and lifts her up roughly.

“You’re a brave girl, Annie. Run as fast as you can and don’t look back. Don’t trust your uncle, okay? Run for the sheriff’s station. You can do it."

“I’m scared, Stiles.”

“I know,” he smiles. “But you can do it. Come on, Annie, be strong.”

The girl feels the sleeve of her nightgown rip as she slides over the ledge, helped by Stiles, until he can no longer reach her. She allows her body to fall into the bushes below the window. Quickly she gets up, thick raindrops falling on her. Within a few seconds, she’s soaked through the bone, but she hardly feels it, adrenaline kicking in.

“Stiles, come on,” Annie cries out, urging Stiles to follow her, but he starts closing the window, shutting her out.

At the same moment, Lewis bursts through the door, startling Stiles, who turns around to fight off the man who has caused their trouble in the first place. The teenager feels the wind being knocked out of him as Lewis throws himself against the boy.

Annie doesn’t run off in the night, knowing she’ll never see Stiles again. Instead, she pulls herself up and manages to force her tiny body back through the window, until she’s in the pantry again, watching the men fight.

Annie knew all too well Stiles could never make it and was about to die.

"Somebody help!"

Annie hears her voice cry out sharply as she runs to the other room, where the others lie on the floor. Shaking them roughly, one by one start to stir. Not waiting for anyone to wake up, she runs back to the other room.

Lewis sees her coming in and lets go of Stiles, knowing she’s the one he wants the most.

“Annie,” he purrs. “Please come here.”

She moves forward, stopping in her tracks when Stiles shouts and focuses Lewis’ attention back to him. In a flash she knows why he does. He does it to save her life. Lewis shouts when Stiles punches him, trying to get him off him as he tells Annie to run.

But she can’t.


	26. Stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for all your kind comments and messages! I am truly in awe, missed you guys.   
> With two more chapters, this story is coming to an end. I hope you enjoy and please leave a review if you like. thanks again!

It isn’t the first time that Stiles has had to fight for his life, but it’s one of the few times where he’s in serious disadvantage. He’s too weak to fight for long, knowing that everything he does, is only stalling time. He’ll die tonight, with a much stronger, healthier man, taking control.

Lewis grasps him as he forces him to the ground, pushing his hands around the teenager's throat, sitting on top of Stiles. Stiles’ legs kick furiously at the man holding him down, only to receive a kick   
in his kidneys as result. It’s pointless to fight.

"Uncle Lewis, stop it!"

Annie's voice startles Lewis as she runs into the pantry. Her arm bleeds where skin has torn off her arm in her attempt to crawl back up the ledge.

Lewis looks up, his fingers still grasping Stiles' neck. To her shock, Annies notices how Stiles no longer moves. He’s lying still on the ground, face turned to the side, no longer stirring. She’s too late. She hears noise behind her as the others wake up, but know they’re too late.

“Please let him go, Uncle Lewis,” she pleads.

Lewis lets go, ignoring Stiles as he turns towards Annie. He smiles. 

“So, I have your attention now, do I, little Annie?”

“You always have, Uncle Lewis,” the girl replies surprised.

He softens. “Maybe you did pay attention, that’s true, but the others never did, not even my own brother. None of them have ever cared about me. Look at me, Annie, and then ask anyone of Beacon Hills if they remember me."

“Is that what this was about, Uncle Lewis?” the girl asks surprised. “Did you kill all those girls to get attention?”

“No, I did it because I liked it, Annie. Because the darkness inside of me yearns for release. Every time I kill, I feel better,” he sighs. “It needs to be fed, Annie. That’s all there is to it. I just want release from the pain.”

Annie feels sorry for the man she has known as a child and has grown up with, knowing nothing about this sort of pain, but sensing it from him nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Lewis,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry that you feel so bad.”

“Then help me, Annie. Come with me,” he pleads with her, standing up and approaching her, staring at her arm. “You’re bleeding.”

"It’s just a scratch, Uncle Lewis,” the girl says, stepping towards Stiles. “Can I please take a look at him? Can I please call an ambulance?”

“He’s already dead,” Lewis replies bitterly. “He tried to take you from me.”

“No, he’s my friend, Uncle Lewis. Friends help each other. You didn’t have to kill him. He might still be breathing now.” Annie gazes at Stiles, who remains still and unmoving on the ground. Drawing Lewis’ attention from Stiles, praying someone will burst into the door just about now, she moves away, heading for the door.

"Let me help you." Lewis offers his hand. “I can fix this, Annie. And you can fix me.”

"No, stay away."

Annie turns and tries to run out of the room, feeling Lewis’ hands on her shoulders. The next moment, the man is pulled off roughly from her and thrown to the ground. For one second, she sees several fiercely colored sets of eyes, but she knows she must be dreaming that. She also thinks she sees claws, but no, she must be imagining it.

Someone’s grabbing her tight and she screams, but stops when she sees it’s Lydia who’s holding her tight, pulling her face against her so she can’t see what’s happening next. The next moment, blood pours from Lewis’ mouth. Annie feels the air shift when the man falls to the ground, life sucked out of him.

“Annie, are you okay?” She looks up in Lydia’s eyes, and sees the others standing wavering around her, all still very groggy but alright. She doesn’t dare to look at Lewis, lying dead on the ground. Her father runs to her and pulls her against him, followed by the warm, comforting hands of her mother.

Annie bursts into tears when she’s surrounded by the people who love her the most.

“Stiles!” she cries out then, turning when she sees the others hovering over Stiles’ still form. His father is by his side, calling for help with his radio, knowing they’ll come soon, but it might already be too late.

Relief surges through her when Stiles coughs and opens his eyes, staring at his friends and family surrounding him.

“You’re alright son,” his father sooths him. “You’ll be just fine. Annie saved you. We’ll get you to a hospital. You’ll be fine.”

“Yes, she did,” Stiles smiles wearily, as Annie is lead out of the room, a smile plastered on her face. They made it, all of them did.

While they wait for help to arrive, Stiles gazes from face to face, finding weary eyes, heads still fighting off the herbs’ impact on them all and the relief that they made it. He doesn’t want to ask who killed Lewis, because he doesn’t want to know. But deep down, he knows whose claws ended it. Derek gazes into his eyes with a knowing smile.

As the sirens sound clearer, Stiles allows himself to linger against his father, passing out before the doors were slammed open and help came. He would be okay, all of them would be, and he felt safe in the surroundings of his friends.


	27. The darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it! The final chapter of this story. If you liked it, please let me know what you thought.  
> I'm currently debating whether to continue writing TW stories or not. It's been quite a hectic past four months and my life has been in turmoil, so I'm not sure yet at this moment if I want to.  
> And I'm dabbling with some stuff of my own too, so it's not clear yet. We'll see.  
> Thank you so much for following and commenting on this story, much appreciated!

The hills seem peaceful and innocent as they rise majestically next to Beacon Hills, but Stiles doesn’t see it when they drive up to Annie’s house, finding her parents and the little girl waiting for them in sadness.

A few hours ago, they buried Lewis, his passing and actions leaving deep wounds with all of them. The pack and sheriff hadn’t gone to the funeral, knowing they wouldn’t be able to express the right words.

But now, it was time to talk about it and say their goodbyes.

“He wasn’t always bad, Stiles,” Annie’s father spoke sadly when they drank coffee and spoke about the events. “He was a good man, but he struggled with darkness I didn’t even know he had. If I had known he thought this way about my daughter, I would have had him locked up a long time ago.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” John Stilinski speaks firmly. “Sometimes you just don’t see it, and believe me, I’ve seen plenty. People are good at burying their darkest sides. He loved Annie, I’m sure of that, but he also had no idea what to do with that love. The man who did all these things, was not your brother. He was a stranger, who took over his body at times.”

The sheriff’s gaze lingers on his son.

“Believe me, I know how that feels,” he finishes gently.

Stiles nods, realizing he feels sorry for the man who died in order to save many lives. Lewis would not have stopped. He would have gone on forever. This is how it works.

Annie stands up first, throwing herself into Stiles’ arms. “Will you come to visit me?” the young girl asks.

“Of course, you couldn’t keep me away,” Stiles smiles. “You could teach me how to ride a horse.”

“And you can teach me how to be brave,” she reacts.

The sheriff places his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Definitely,” the man speaks with love in his voice.

As they leave Annie and her parents, father and son walk to the car in silence. A pale sun casts a smile in the skies, something they all need. As the sheriff starts the car, he looks at his son, noticing his concerned gaze.

“You make me proud, Stiles,” his father says. “Over and over again. Don’t you ever forget that. You saved that girl’s life, as she did yours and I would never, ever change anything about you. But I do need to know if you did it on purpose.”

Stiles knows exactly what his father is thinking and frowns. “I don’t know myself,” he confesses.

“You wanted to save Annie.”

“I did.”

“But you also didn’t care about your own life.”

“I did, but when I came down to the choice between her life and mine, I chose hers.”

“Why?” his father asks. “Because of you still believe you need to be punished about the Nogitsune?”

Stiles nods. “Because I’m afraid, dad. I’m so scared it might return some day and that I won’t be able to control it. And the guilt stays with me forever.”

“You should cherish that guilt then and turn it into something useful.”

“Like what?” Stiles asks surprised.

“Good for the people around you, like Annie. You saved her, she will grow up to become a fantastic girl and she will always have you as a friend. There are other Annie’s out there, you know. Others who might need all of you some day. As do your friends. Scott wouldn’t be who he is today without you, just like you are not the same without him,” the sheriff speaks. “Your pack of friends is what you need to survive, to stay strong and they are stronger because of you.”

“Even if I too have that darkness in me?” Stiles asks afraid.

“That darkness makes you who you are, son. And it reminds you every single day that you shouldn’t just take life for granted. It will help you fight and it will make you attentive for that others can’t see,” his father says quietly. “I know you’ll be just fine, if you allow yourself to become the man you want to be.”

The sheriff drives off the hill while his son sits next to him in silence, realizing that his father is right. The darkness is a part of him, but he shouldn’t fear it. He should use it to good use. Perhaps that is ultimately what these past days were about. To teach him, show him what it would be like to help others. He likes that feeling.

 

End


End file.
